Trying For Redemption
by MimiLuvs16
Summary: For Dauntless faction leader Eric Coulter, he is learning that everything that feels like its fun doesn't mean that it is good for him. He is in trouble... Big trouble. But he has a few people in his corner that will try to get him out. Will he accept the help. Would he even appreciate it. This is the fourth story out of the 'Eric and Nasira' series. A/U. Non-Canon.
1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:** *waves* Hello, Lovelies!

This is the fourth story out of the series (there will be six, in total). For this one, all I have to say is that this one is filled with drama, drama and more drama. And it is not going to stop for a while. It will carry on, into the next story as well.

In this story, I am trying out a new technique, which is going to cause some confusion for some readers. In this story, I am trying a new way of writing down the characters' thoughts and the flashback sequences. I'm just writing them down, in the same manner that a person reflects. So, they will appear as if I just 'smack dabbed' them into the story.

 **RATING:** **Rated 'M' for 'Mature'. NSFW. Strong adult language. Strong adult content. Graphic violence.**

 **WARNING:** This story (like the entire series) is an 'A/U'. Non-Canon. Characters are OOC. There are OCs in this story.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own any of the characters from the "Divergent Series". They belonged to Veronica Roth.

If you feel like leaving a comment, please do. I love to read your thoughts and opinions. Rate, if you want to do so.

Also, I want to tell everyone who has left a review and has 'favorited' my story/add me to their 'Favorite Authors' list, thank you and I really appreciate every kind gesture.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _"Love is very dangerous if you just have love and don't have the ability to be lovable."_

 _*Dick Gregory_

* * *

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

 **"** **AAAAHH—**

 **"** **SOMEONE GET HELP!"**

 **"** **OH GOD! NO-NO-NO-NO…"**

The screams and the cries of horror continued to rang out in the training room.

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

The stomach-turning sounds of fists violently colliding into bruised and tendered flesh continued to spill out into the training room's atmosphere. In between the macabre melody, there was a ferocious and feral growl.

 **"** **YO, GET OFF OF HIM, YO!"** another one of the teenagers screamed out. He stood on the sidelines making demands like he was in charge, but he possessed the posture of a coward.

 **"** **FIX! OH MY GOD! FIX, GET UP!"** a female teenager screamed into the sparring ring. She also stood on the sidelines and watched the tribute unfold. **"FIX, GET UP, PLEASE! GET—**

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

 **"** **NNNNGGGGHHH! YOU LITTLE SHIT—**

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

 **"** **BAL-BLATT!"**

The cinder block-paved walls were bathed in the sounds from her tribute.

Movement managed to catch her attention. It flickered right into her peripheral view. She turned her face slightly and allowed her sight to land on the entrance to the training room. She stared at a pair of newly-minted Dauntless members that occupied the threshold that was in between the room and the outside corridor. The huddled and cowered together, with their backs facing the room's interior.

'Insipid cowards,' she quietly sneered. She rolled her eyes in annoyance and then returned her focus on the gift that he was providing her.

 **"** **BAH-BLATT! BAH-BLATT!"**

Her eyes took in the sight of his meaty fists as they pounded away at the bloodied flesh and bone. She glimpsed at the blood-decorated, elaborate markings that were on his forearms as he rained his wrath down on his prey.

 **"** **ERRR-RIC!"**

 **"** aaaaaaAAHH! Oh my Gah—

There were more ungrateful cowards, who can't appre—

Hazel-brown eyes slightly widened with subtle amazement, once their vision landed on a pair of familiar faces. 'Oh,' she secretly cooed. Her line of sight bounced off of the dull-haired girl that he chose to court and returned onto him. In particular, she was staring at the svelte yet strong-looking trainer's frame as he charged towards the sparring ring. The possible notion that she would have his contribution to her tribute, filled her spirit up with joy. She felt her body's temperature raise and flood her core with liquid heat. Her skin buzzed with ripples of electricity. After all, Four was definitely the perfect man to participate in her tribute.

 **"** **ERRRR-RIC!"** roared Four as he ran to the ring's sideline.

 **"** **BAL-BLATT! BAL-BLA—**

 **"** **GET OFF OF—**

Her eyes widened with excitement as she viewed Four's left leg swing out in front of him and connect to her project's face. The sound of cartilage and bone mincing upon the shin's impact, echoed in the cavernous room. She soon became a spectator to another tribute. Her eyes viewed Eric's finely-tuned form fall backwards into an uncoordinated, over-the-shoulder tumble. He rolled his body four times, effectively getting away from Four's potential strikes. He rolled his body away from the trainer, adding enough distance between himself and the attacker.

Her eyes focused their intentions on the trainer again, who was currently kneeling next to the unconscious and bloodied initiate. She noticed the quick snaps of sight that he was making between Eric, who happened to be his superior officer and the kid. Then she aimed her malevolent yet intrigued gaze onto the mealy-mouthed, trouble-maker that was unconscious. The unrecognizable, former top initiate that was known as 'Fix'. He lain on the blue, plastic sparring mat, spread-eagled and hardly breathing. She knew that she didn't have to use the stethoscope that was hanging around her neck, to know that he was shallowly breathing. Her head slightly cocked to the left as she eyed the battered, swollen face. In her mind, she recalled Fix's old face: the deeply-set sapphire eyes, the aquiline nose, pouty pink lips and the high cheekbones, along with the wavy blond hair. 'Now, he barely possesses a face,' she concluded as she stared. Eric's fists managed to turn the initiate's flesh into a bruised and bloodied mess. His fingers managed to make his eyes' sockets into two gap—

 **"** **ERR-RIC! NO!"**

She tore her attention away from the barely-there human and she eyed Four as he leapt to his feet and placed himself into a defensive stance. Eric invaded her sight's range. He charged Four, with a snarl on his lips and fire in his eyes. 'Oh…Kay. Let's…'

With a spine-tingling growl escaping from his reddened face, Eric's right fist shot through the air. Four skillfully side-stepped and averted the fist's strike. His own left fist connected with the leader's right cheek and jaw. A stout grunt escaped Eric's mouth just as he stumbled into his left.

She kissed her teeth. 'Embarrassing.'

"Eric!" shouted Four, as he eyed the faction leader.

Blue eyes zeroed in on the somewhat thinner man. The scowl deepened. "Nnnngggrrr!" he growled. His feet propelled the rest of his body to charge into Four's direction.

The trainer's right hand quickly shot out to the side as his face was aimed at his opponent. He pointed into the direction of the unconscious Fix. **"GET HIM OUT OF HERE! TAKE HIM TO THE INFIRMARY! NOW!"** he screamed at the former initiates, who were standing by the sidelines.

Blurs of darkness ambled into her peripheral view. Her hazel orbs watched a trio of younglings come into her full viewpoint. Their tear-streaked, panicked faces were pointed at their fallen comrade. Knees and hands were quickly soiled in his spilt blood. She witnessed the teen clumsily pick up Fix's upper body from off of the mat. They began to drag his body away, when she turned her focus away. 'Such. A. Waste.'

Eric's agitated form caught her attention again. With a hunch in his back, he ran towards Four again.

"Eric! Eric! Eric! Err—Goddamned—

Four, once again, side-stepped out of the raging leader's path. His right hand released a brusque punch to the Dauntless leader's right cheek. Another animal-like grunt came from the enraged faction member.

 **"** **HOLD IT!"**

Her eyes picked up the small group of Dauntless soldiers that currently invaded the training room and had disturbed her tribute. She quickly assessed there were five soldiers, who were dressed in their battle gear and had their guns drawn. Every weapon was aimed at the two men, who were standing in the ring. The five soldiers took slow and precise steps towards the sideline.

 **"—** **IR, STOP RIGHT NOW!"** ordered the officer that stood in the front of the formation.

"Oh my God," she heard a former female initiate whimper, out of fear.

Her finely-maintenance lips drew into a sneer. 'Weakness. Such a spoiled, wretched—

The thought was abruptly casted out of her brain, along with the rough exhale that shot out of her nose. 'No… No… _No_. Those useless slabs of flesh do not deserve the mere consideration of your attention. They shouldn't even be—

 **"** **STOP! ST—**

Her eyes took in the images of the Dauntless soldiers pulling the triggers off of their guns. She watched the electricity-carrying tendrils shoot out of their tasers' chambers and then sank their teeth into the raging leader's naked flesh. The training room was filled with the cackling noises of the electricity that was being imbedded into Eric's flesh, as well as, the sound of the leader's pain-reflected wail.

 **"** **GET DOWN!"** she heard one soldier command.

Eric spun around with a break-neck speed. He glared at the soldiers with his swollen and reddened eyes. His hands pawed at the air that was in between the armed soldiers and himself, attempting to remove the tasers' wiring from his skin. As a result, the sounds of the cackling electrical volts became louder and more frequent. Another groan fell from his lips. His knees buckled.

 **"** **GET DOWN! NOW!"** an officer ordered.

 **"** **FFFFFFFF…."** Eric's pursed lips formed.

Movement danced into the corner of her sight, again. Her eyes peered at a cool and collected Four as he stealthily approached Eric's back. She, then, watched the trainer apply a powerful and swift kick against the backs of Eric's knees.

 **"** **AAAAAAA-ARGH!"** the Dauntless leader screamed out as his knees descended towards the mat. Once reached the mat, he was presented with another swift and hard kick, yet, this one was aimed for the back of his head. The blunt noise of the impact reached to the training room's ceiling.

She witnessed Eric's body go slack and crumple to the padded flooring, face-first.

 **"** **HE'S DOWN! HE'S DOWN! HE'S DOWN!"**

The five armed, soldiers-in-black swarmed around the unconscious leader as Four casually strolled away from the scene.

Her eyes remained on the mysterious and usually-brooding trainer. She watched him stroll up to the edge of the platform that carried the sparring mat. She was given a glimpse into his mind, when she saw his handsome face frown up and she felt a glimmer of frustration come off of him. Seconds later, he shielded his face with his hands. He dropped into a squatting position as he kept rubbing his face and scalp. If he wasn't consumed with his thoughts, then he would've sensed her presence as she stood several feet in front of him.

She turned her attention to Eric and to the group of soldiers that were surrounding his unconscious body. The Dauntless leader was subjected to a face-down pose into the mat. His left arm was forced behind his back by a soldier. His right arm was subjected to the same treatment by another soldier. Her eyes viewed the binding procedure that occurred to his wrists.

"The suspect has been apprehended…" one of the binding soldiers announced into his walkie-talkie.

"What-in the-fuck had gone on, in here?!" questioned another soldier, in a hushed tone, as he stared down at the bloodied beast.

Her eyes peered down at the body that belonged to Eric. _Her Eric,_ to be precise.

She deeply inhaled. On the exhale, she was greeted with the memory of that day, on the piers. She recalled the moment of when a hairless boy came into her view. The overcast sky gave him a ghastly-pale appearance. His ill-fitting, school uniform also aided in the poor appearance. She recalled taking a glimpse at his feet and observing his brown, battered shoes. She silently laughed, once she referred to them as "clown shoes" due to their large size. She stood next to the dilapidated structure that used to be a concession stand, hundreds of years ago, and she continued to spy on the kid.

He sat on the dampened, chipped floorboards that made up a portion of the pier and amongst a shallowed puddle of dirty rainwater. He kept his head bowed and his attention on his hands. Fragments that made up a pair of plastic toys kept his attention as he used his dirtied fingers to make them dance along the floor's surface. Nonsense words and incoherent sounds kept spilling from his lips, serving as a soundtrack for his playtime.

It was during this moment of juvenile activity, when she decided to make her appearance known. With careful steps, her patent leather Mary Janes walked across the pier, from her hiding spot to where he was sitting. She stood several inches behind his hunched back, for a few seconds, before she made her presence known. The sound of a firm clearing of her throat alerted the boy that sat in front of her. She surveyed his body language as he swiftly straightened his back and leapt out of his leisure pose. He scurried away from her location and crawled about a foot away. Once he felt that he was safe, he turned to her. She gazed into his eyes and was surprised to see the radiant blue-gray eyes. She felt a twinge of envy as she glanced into those pretty blue orbs. The opinion that he didn't deserve them, crossed her mind. Madeline's scolding voice penetrated her conscience.

 _'_ _Envy is a useless emotion…'_

She quietly admonished herself and focused on her task. She spotted the sign of fear in his widened cerulean orbs as he stared at her. It was quickly replaced with another emotion. An emotion that she was unfamiliar with, however, it left her with a pleasant sensation. A stream of fluttering brewed in her stomach. She pondered if this was the sensation that Madeline told her about, on that night. She quickly dispelled the thought and she returned her focus on the boy that sat on the dirty ground. She kindly introduced herself and then she waited for the kid to return the act.

The bright, blue eyes with the indecipherable emotion stared at her. His lips parted and closed. A millisecond later, he parted his lips again, only to slap them shut again. A few seconds later, his lips performed the same dance again. He glanced at his dirtied uniform pants for a few seconds as a scowl was etched on his face. He glared at her. His lips parted again and a sharp inhale passed through them. "Err… Err-Err… Err-ric… Cah… Cah-coal… Cah-coal… Te—

 **"** **ANISSA! GODDAMN IT! WHERE…"**

She was unfairly yanked out of her subconscious by Four's raised voice. Her sight landed on the tall figure as he rose to his feet. His eyes were shooting rays of contempt at her, which was left momentarily stunned.

 **"…** **IN THE HELL WERE YOU?!"**

She quickly gathered her wits. Her eyes did a brief glimpse at the unconscious Eric. Her brain gave away a subtle taste of the past fourteen years. 'Mmmm. It was fun while it lasted,' she concluded. She deeply inhaled and she eyed the angry trainer. 'But I should've had a better tribute from him.' She stepped out of the shadows and into the light. Her tear-filled eyes glanced at Eric, then at the blood-stained mat. The wide, horror-filled hazel orbs landed on Four.

"Oh my G—Four, what happened?!"


	2. Chapter One At What Hides Beneath

**Author's Note:** *waves yet again*

Hello, once again.

I've come to the realization that I cannot stop myself from updating this story...Even though I had made a promise to myself that I wouldn't update until I was finished typing the entire story. But, my brain had other plans apparently.

I am going to attempt to finish typing up the rest of this story before this weekend is over.

 **Rating:** Rated M for 'Mature'. **NSFW. Strong adult language. Detailed depictions of violence. Strong adult content.**

 **Now, in regards to the violence. There is one scene in this chapter that had detailed violence, so for this scene I have left asterisks (**) at the beginning of the scene and at the ending. So if you're uncomfortable reading such things, then you can skip it.**

 **WARNING:** This story is an A/U and Non-Canon. Veronica Roth's characters are completely OOC in this story. There is no mentions/depictions of the divergent search, the Abnegation massacre and any of the incidents from the Divergent novels or films.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters that were sprung from Veronica Roth's mind. Nor do I own the 'Divergent Series'. I also don't own the song "The Moon Song". It is a wonderful song that was written by Karen O. from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The only things that I own are this story and the OCs that were mentioned.

Thank you for reading. For reviewing and for 'favoriting' my story. For some strange reason, my reviews are not popping up on my page. I have sent FFnet an email. Hopefully, the 'review' page will be back up soon. If you want to send me a review, then you can send me a 'Private Message' on here. Or you can visit my Tumblr account **mimigemrose** and leave one there.

Please enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter** **One** **:** **The Truth**

 _"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth."_

 _-Buddha_

* * *

 **"** **BAH-BRINNNNGGG!"**

 **"** **BAH-BRINNNGGG!"**

 **"** **BAH-BRINNNNGGG!"**

 **"** **BAH-BRINNNNGGG!"**

 **"** **BAH—**

"Hello?" Nasira slurred into the mouthpiece of her phone. She slowly made her way onto her back while her fingers rubbed the sleep from out of her eyes.

"Hey, girl!" came pouring out of the earpiece. The voice, according to the mother, was too cheerful and hyperactive for this time of the morning. "This is Bethany, from across the hall. In apartment Four-A. I'm sorry for waking you up…"

'Yeah-yeah-yeah Bethany, just get to the…'

"…I just wanted to let you know that I think Luke's dad is sleeping outside your door, girl," reported Bethany.

'…point—Wait… What?!'

"What?!" Nasira breathed into the mouthpiece. She sat upright and she scanned the darkened bedroom.

"Yes, girl! I just came in from my shift and I saw that he was there," her neighbor informed her. "At first, I thought a factionless guy had snuck in here. I was about to call Mister Joe, so he could bounce his ass out of here. But, then…" She hastily whispered, "… I saw the tattoos on his neck". In her normal tone of voice, there was a "So, I called you instead. I thought that you would know how to handle the situation".

'What in the…' Her right hand reached for the lamp that was on her nightstand. A few seconds later, light bathed the walls and the ceiling that made up her bedroom. There were stings of discomfort deep into her eyes, but a quick case of closing her eyes, ceased the pain. She stared at the closet's door that was several feet away. "Well… Thank you, Bethany… For calling me instead of calling the super," she spoke into the mouthpiece. Her left hand yanked the blankets from off of her legs. "I'll handle it from here."

"Alright, well, have a good night, honey," the neighbor announced.

"I'm gonna try," she sighed. She was met with a gentle giggle. "Have a good night, Bethany." Her right thumb pressed the button that disconnected the call. She gathered the phone in her right hand and she carelessly dropped the phone onto the nightstand. A harsh noise rang out, into the bedroom. 'Shit!' she silently yelped as she flinched. She pulled away from the headboard and listened for any possible cries from the hallway. Once she was met with silence, she settled up against the wooden plank again. 'Oh… _My fucking God_ ,' she quietly groaned as she brought her palms to her face and her knees to an akimbo. A hearty growl of frustration escaped her 'This is a _fine-fine-fine_ situation to be in.' She peeled her hands away from her face after she gave her cheeks a few hard rubs. "Okay," she sighed. "What am I going to do?" she said under her breath.

'Call the police…. Call Mister Joe and let him handle it. But wait—Mister Joe will more likely call for the police to handle it. Which means… We're back to 'option one' which is calling the police…' She grunted out of frustration. 'Why does this have to—

" _Pull over_!" Nasira groaned as she eyed the back of the driver's head. The sensation of wanting to vomit pulled her from out of her memory bank.

The Hummer-driver's head turned to his right. His brown eyes performed a short glimpse into the back seats' location. "What? What did you say, Miss?" he shouted over the voracious roar that came from the truck's engine.

A second wave of nausea struck her, leaving her with a constricting esophagus and a thick coat of saliva gracing her mouth. "I said, pull…" A cramp gripped her stomach and caused her abdomen to violently clench. It was official. 'I have to throw up,' her brain alerted her spirit. She groaned. "…over!"

"Ma'am… We're near the ol' Michigan Avenue Bridge! Can't you wait until we get across?!" the driver announced.

"Turk, man, pull over!" the soldier that sat next to her, shouted. His eyes did a cautionary glance at Nasira. "She looks like she is about to throw up, man!"

"Oh," the driver yelped. He turned his head, so he could face the windshield.

"Miss Grant, are you okay?" she heard Trigger say, from the front passenger seat.

Even in her sick state, she detected the professional and authoritative tone in his voice. "I'll be alright, _Staff Sergeant Grant_ , once I get out of this car!" she notified him.

"Okay, ma'am," the driver said into the rear view window. "Just… Please don't throw up in here! I am responsible for this vehicle!" he whined.

Her dark brown eyes focused on the passing scenery that was outside of the window and attempted to gain control of her angry stomach. As of the moment, nausea had a tight grip of her stomach and it was wringing every bit of vitality from it.

"So, I advise you, Soldier, to immediately find a spot and pull over," Trigger told his front-seat partner.

A few minutes passed and the Hummer was still in cruise mode. "Turk, man, what-the-hell are you looking for?! Just pull over!" the soldier in the back seat yelled at the back of the driver's head.

The driver used his right hand to point at the windshield. "We're not too far from the bridge!" he pointed out. "She can just hold it, for a few minutes! I'll—

"Turk, what-the-hell, man?! She look like…"

The driver stammered. "I don't think that we should stop…"

"…she's about to blow chunks, right now!" the backseat soldier informed him.

"…We're still in some of the factionless territories! We—

"Soldier!" barked Trigger. His call possessed a sense of irritation that caused every occupant to remain quiet. "If you don't stop this vehicle right now, you're going to lick up every drop of her vomit from out of this truck!" he warned the driver. "Now… Pull this vehicle over!" he ordered.

Turk made an audible gulp. His head frantically nodded. "Y-Yes, Sir," he stammered. Seconds later, the driver commandeered the large vehicle into the right lane of the street. He slowed the truck's speed as he drove closer to the sidewalk's curb. The truck came to a stop, several feet in front of an abandoned building.

As soon as the Hummer came to a gentle halt, Nasira frantically opened the door and then her fingers attacked the nylon straps that made up her seatbelt. Once freed from her bondage, she leapt out of the truck and onto the cracked pavement. Her sandal-clad feet performed quick steps away from the vehicle and closer to the building's steps. The hard soles of her sandals hastily slapped against the cracked pavement. Her nostrils were struck with the putrid scents of stale urine, feces and garbage. The trio of odors caused devastation against the thin layer of restraint that she was holding up. Her stomach violently convulsed and her throat tightened up. Vomit was spewed from her mouth. The colorful, undigested waste landed on the littered stairs that led up to the boarded up building. Her feet continued to trot towards the building's façade as another spasm wracked her stomach. Her watery vision caught the sight of a rusty, metal railing seconds before she collided into the object. Fingers snatched up the rail and held on while her upper body hunched over. Nasira continued to heave and spew out the contents that were inside of her stomach until there was nothing left, except for sour-tasting spittle. Her wretched gags and coughs filled the air, lastly.

She kept her upper body hunched over the railing and her eyes on the vomit-covered stairs as she endured the strong after-effects of her purging. Fat, hot tears streaked her face as she experienced the sour taste inside of her mouth and on her tongue. Her limbs shook from exertion. The scents that were surrounding the building, along with the strong fragrance of Trigger's cologne, made her want to puke again. 'Oh please no,' her brain begged her stomach. A ragged, dry heave escaped from her mouth, which was followed by another round of vomiting. Unlike the first round, she vomited air and coughs. 'Add Trigger's cologne to the list,' she declared, after she calmed down. 'God, I hope I won't have to deal with this shit for the rest of this pregnancy.'

Nasira felt her brother's presence seconds before he had spoken.

"Turk's a lucky man," he announced as his boots' soles crushed the litter as he walked. "Cause if he didn't stop the car, _he was definitely_ going to lick up every bit of your vomit. Even if I had to stand there and watch him all night."

"Come on, Trig" she croaked, with the back of her throat twitching. She spat onto the puddle of vomit. "He's being cautious."

"Nah, he was being a coward. _That beast_ is a faction leader's official vehicle. The doors, the roof and the siding has about a foot's worth of Kevlar built in the armor. The windows are bullet-proof and shatter-proof. Between the three of us, we have nine guns on us. And don't get me started on the weapons that are stored inside of the truck," Trigger pointed out. "Turk was just acting like a pansy-cake. That punishment would've been appropriate."

Nasira collected more saliva from her mouth and she spat onto the stairs. She was attempting to erase the horrible taste from her mouth. She suddenly felt a gentle nudge against her left shoulder.

"Hmmm," hummed Trigger.

The image of an unopened bottle of water was pushed into her view. Her eyes shyly scanned the hand, wrist and then the arm that belonged to her brother. Then she peered into her brother's naturally-hooded, sleepy brown eyes. "Thank you," she croaked as she accepted the plastic bottle.

"You're welcome," he told her as he watched his sister open up the bottle. As she proceeded to clean her mouth out, he looked away. He glanced down the isolated neighborhood. He deeply sighed. "So… How far along are you?" he queried.

She winced. 'Shhh-it!' she silently groaned with disappointment etching itself in her spirit.

Trigger chuckled. "Yeah." His eyes focused on her. "Yeah, it's not hard to tell."

She accepted another mouthful of water and she cleaned the taste of vomit from her mouth. She stood upright, an action that her stomach disagreed with. Her belly trembled. Her right hand cradled the small bulge that was her stomach. She tried to massage the uneasy feeling away. She glanced at her brother. "I'm close to twelve weeks… Give or take a day," she confessed. "I found out about this, three days ago, on Wednesday. The funny thing is that was the last time I've seen Eric."

"Mmmm…" her brother hummed. "Do you plan on keeping the baby?"

Her eyes glowered at him. "Of course," she informed him with a slight edge to her voice.

Trigger raised his hands up in a mock surrender. "I was just checkin' to make sure!" he chuckled with a fringe of uneasiness in his tone.

"I'm keeping my baby," she reaffirmed.

Close to half of a minute's worth of silence passed, before communication started up again. "Does _he_ know?"

Nasira shook her head. "I've never gotten the chance to tell him."

"Does Mama know?"

Again, she shook her head. "No, not yet. I will, this week. I didn't say anything because I wanted to wait until I was out of the first—

"Trimester, in case of a possible miscarriage," he stated, filling out of the rest.

She had taken a few steps away from the mess that she had created. Her stomach felt like it jostled around, with every step that she had taken. Her right hand squeezed at her pouch. 'Alright baby, please don't cut up anymore.'

"I think that there's some gum inside of the truck," announced Trigger.

Her head gently nodded. "Thanks."

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed.

After a few seconds of silence, there was a "Trigger?"

"Yeah, _Miss Grant_?"

She gave her brother a serious look. "What did he do?"

Trigger sucked his bottom lip into his mouth for a second, before he answered her inquiry. "I think Defense Leader Grant should—

"No…" she said softly as she shook her head. "…I want _you_ to tell me… Right now. And I want _my brother_ to tell me. Not Staff Sergeant Grant to tell me." Her eyes were beginning to sting, which was the welcoming call for her impending tears. "It's… It's something bad…" Her head slowly nodded. "…It's something bad. I know," she whispered. A pair of tears crawled down her face. "I mean… He wouldn't be in _The-fucking-Land,_ if he did something minor." She looked away from her brother. "Right?" The backs of her hands dried her cheeks. She sniffled. "So, can you please tell me what happened?"

Trigger's jaw tightened while a glow exploded in his eyes' irises. His eyes rolled in their sockets so he could view the Humvee. "He's in a world of trouble, Nassy," he told her. His eyes focused on her. "Yesterday…" he sighed. "Yesterday, he attacked a newly-minted Dauntless member…"

Pressure filled up in her chest, making her breath hitch. 'Oh, God.'

"… It occurred in one of the training rooms. A bunch of newbies had gone there to work out… And to celebrate a little, I guess, when Eric had shown up. The kid and Eric managed to get into it and a fight broke out. I heard that it had taken a few patrolmen and Four to pry him off of the kid," explained Trigger.

"Is… Is-Is-Is the kid alright?" she stuttered.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know too many details about his injuries except that it was serious. He was first taken to the infirmary in the Training Facility to be treated and then stabilized. Then he was taken to the Defense Department, where he was air-lifted…"

'Oh God,' she secretly cried out.

"… to Landsteiner-Popper in—

"Erudite," she whimpered. A shiver dripped down her spine while her skin prickled. 'That's the hospital for the serious stuff… The very serious stuff… For the…' She looked away. "What will happen to Eric, if that boy dies?" she queried as she eyed the Humvee.

"Well… It's The Oculus for him," Trigger honestly answered.

A wave of light-headedness struck her and caused her feet to slightly stumble. Her hands gripped the metal railing that was behind her. Her eyes drew shut and closed the outside world off. She was met with a montage of snapshots that were actually fragmented memories. Her sunlit living room, on a Sunday afternoon. There was a smiling Lucien as he ran around the corner of the sectional, the part which connected the chaise lounge to the sofa portion. There was the pair of blue-gray eyes that were attached to a face that held a similar smile. There was a frame of a running Lucien. Hands hold—

'No!' her conscience screamed at her. 'No, this cannot… He cannot… This-This…'

"Nassy?" she heard her older brother softly say to her.

Her eyes opened and freed the tears that was caught there. She looked at her sibling. "Let's go," she announced in a firm voice. In reality, she was rattled.

* * *

Nausea struck the mother again, eleven minutes later. Rather than this being another symptom of her pregnancy, the nausea was a symptom for the over-abundance of fear that captured her spirit. The closer they arrived to the Michigan Avenue Bridge, which led to The Land, her fear became stronger.

"Alright, we're at the bridge," Turk the driver announced.

"We can see that, Turk," the nameless, backseat soldier pointed out.

Nasira's jaw worked over the mint-flavored chewing gum, in an attempt to keep her nausea from bubbling over again. Her eyes focused on the scenery that was surrounding the vehicle as they rode across the Michigan Avenue Bridge, which was now referred to as 'The Bridge'.

"Miss Grant?" she heard her brother call out, underneath the strong purrs from the engine.

Eyes pulled their attention away from the sight of the almost emptied river and they stared at the headrest that was in front of her. "Yeah?"

"I'm giving you a 'heads up'! Once we get to the other side of this bridge, you will be out of Chicago's jurisdiction! Meaning, if something happens to you while you're here, no one from the government will help you! So, if the officers here perceives you to be a threat to anyone's safety, then you will be treated like you're a threat! Do you understand me?"

"Oh…Kay," she whimpered.

"And there's another thing."

"What is it?" she queried.

"You will need to be searched by an officer, so we will be separated for some time," he notified her.

A deep frown crossed her face. " _Meaning_?"

"Meaning that you will be taken to a room by a female officer and you will have to go through a strip search!"

 _'WHAT?!_ '

"Under normal circumstances, you would've undergone a trip through the full-body scanner. But, due to your… _condition_ … You cannot used it!" he informed her.

'That… Makes sense, unfortunately,' she reluctantly admitted to herself.

"After your search, we're going to be escorted by a few armed officers to Warden Clarke's office, where we will meet up with Defense Leader Grant and the warden, himself!"

"Okay," she murmured as she nodded her head.

A few minutes later, the Humvee reached the end of the bridge's length. The vehicle was greeted with a checkpoint station and a small group of soldiers. One of the soldiers approached Turk's side and asked the young man for their visit's objective. Trigger answered the question. The truck's occupants were, then, instructed to stay inside of the vehicle. They were informed that the bottom of the vehicle needed to be search for any possible threats. A soldier approached the vehicle's grill with a metal detector. His guided the instrument around the truck, underneath the carriage.

"What are they looking for?" she asked as she still surveyed the soldier.

"They're checking for bombs," explained Trigger.

She winced. 'Geez.' She resumed staring out of the window, at the Dauntless soldier who was standing on the other side of her door. His head was bowed as he stared at his ministrations. "Do you go through this procedure every time you come here?" she queried.

"Mmm-hmm," hummed Trigger.

Once the vehicle was cleared from any possible malice, Turk was ordered to drive the Humvee past the checkpoint station. After making a few more turns down narrowed streets, they were greeted by the ominous view of the Harry S. Truman Maximum Security Prison, which also known as 'The Land of No Return,' or simply as 'The Land'.

Built thirty years' prior and was in operation for close to twenty-eight years, The Land was the youngest building to be erected in the city of Chicago. The prison was also known for its unusual, stand-out formation. The twenty-nine-floored building was formed in a semi-spherical shape with a dome-capped roof and a brick-and-mortar wall that stood over one-hundred feet high. The barricade also carried six watchtowers, which overlook the prison's territory and was lined with barbed wire.

Nasira gazed out of the passenger window with her sense of trepidation plastered on her face. She continued to gaze at the large prison until her sight couldn't take it in any longer. Turk drove the vehicle to a side of the prison that housed an entrance that was given an aura of secrecy. As they arrived, Nasira spotted two men dressed in black, military garb. Once the Humvee came to a stop, the soldiers approached her side of the vehicle. A guard opened her door while the other soldier allowed Trigger to open his own door. She was helped out of the truck by an offering hand. She quietly and observed the soldier.

He was a soldier of average height and weight. He had a typical, male Dauntless soldier's build: an athlete's physique that held muscles that weren't overwhelming for his frame. His skin possessed a healthy coloring, like he was tanned. Like Turk's hairstyle, the office kept his sandy blond hair in a military-approved, buzz cut. He possessed looks that was rugged, but still handsome. A few faintly-looking scars decorated spots on his face. The vicinity that surrounded his mouth owned thin laugh lines, as well as, the temples. His strong-looking jaw possessed a prominent dimple in the chin. A pair of deep, dark brown eyes were framed by his bushy, dark-colored eyebrows. His nose secretly told her about his previous battles, thanks to the slight disorder that was on his face. The soldier reminded Nasira of one of the plethora of action figures that her brothers collected as children.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is Officer Kincaide," the armed soldier announced as he helped her walk away from the vehicle. He used his dimpled chin to point over to his partner, who stood on his right side. "This officer here is named Officer Goodwin…"

Nasira eyed Officer Goodwin, who was standing in front of Trigger. The officer was the complete opposite of Officer Kincaide, if their physiques were compared. Officer Goodwin didn't remind the mother of an action figure. It was more like he reminded her of a former school teacher. The younger-looking officer was lanky and pale-skinned. He wore a pair of black, plastic eyeglasses on his face. His face held an expression of inexperience, especially his brown eyes. But, Nasira knew that looks could be deceiving.

Kincaide aimed his brown-eyed stare at her again. "…We are here to serve as your escorts during your visit here at Harry S. Truman Maximum Security Prison. If you follow us, then we will escort you both to the checkpoint and scanner station. Then we will take you to Warden Clarke's office." He glimpsed at Trigger and then at her. "Please, follow me," he instructed.

The two officers walked ahead of the siblings, abreast and with a few inches of space between them. They led the siblings out of the overbearing, early Summer heat and into the air-conditioned building. They entered a foyer that held sterilized, cold air. Trigger and Nasira was led to the first checkpoint, which was discussed by Officer Kincaide. She quickly eyed the materials for the checkpoint and was relieved to see a free-standing metal detector and a package scanner. The expecting mother knew that her unborn child wouldn't become harmed. Being that she was unexpectedly summoned to come to the prison on this Saturday afternoon, she didn't have any belongings with her, except for her identification card. She managed to pass through the metal detector without ticking the machine off. After watching her brother pass, the guards instructed them to follow them, once again. They were led down several corridors, where they ended up in an elevator bank.

The four faction members rode an elevator to the eighteenth floor. As soon as they exited the elevator, the siblings were met with another checkpoint station. Unlike the checkpoint that was in the lobby, in the foyer, this checkpoint contained a floor-to-ceiling monstrosity of a machine and a seven-foot-tall, partition.

"Officer Kincaide?"

Nasira turned to her brother, who was in the process of trying to garner the guard's attention. She watched the armed officer turned to face Trigger. Her sibling calmly approached the man and spoken to him in hushed tones. As he spoke, she noticed the officer's eyes aim their sight onto her. Trigger pulled away and the officer performed a hand gesture, so she could follow him.

"Ma'am, come with me, please," Officer Kincaide instructed. The officer looked to his partner. "Goodwin…"

"Yes, Sir?"

"…I am taking Miss Grant to get a One-oh-eight-three. I need for you to take Staff Sergeant Grant to the full-body scanner, please," he informed his partner.

"Got it," the man said with a nod of his head.

Kincaide focused on Nasira. "Ma'am…" His voice trailed off.

"Yes, Sir," she murmured.

Officer Kincaide turned his back to her and proceeded to set the trail. The notion that she was visiting the home of Chicago's worst people didn't fall to the wayside within her mind. Her skin was still bristled and her nerves were on edge. Her eyes bounced their sight off of his wide and muscular back and she glimpsed at her surroundings, as she walked. Her sight took in the appearance of the long corridor, in which she was visiting. With its antiseptic-smelling air, emerald green tiled floor and pale yellow-painted walls, it didn't feel like it was a part of a prison. It was more appropriate setting for a clinic or a faction's infirmary. Her ears listened out for noises and sounds that could set off her intuition for danger. But she was only greeted by the sounds of their footsteps as they walked along.

Officer Kincaide escorted Nasira to the end of the hallway and to a room that was closed off from their viewings by a yellow, metal door. The soldier-turned-temporary escort stood on the other side of the door frame and he glanced at her. "Okay, ma'am, just wait here while I look for someone to give you your search," he informed her.

She nodded her head once. Then she watched the officer tap on the metal and casually open the door. He stepped into the room and was covered in a wave of formal greetings from the room's occupants.

"Hey, Officer Galveston. Officer Dunlap," she heard the officer say in a semi-hasty voice. "I have a pregnant woman outside that needs to be search. I was wondering—

"I'll do it, Kincaide." It was a woman's voice, much to Nasira's relief. "Do you want me to perform the search in here?"

"Is it alright with you, Dunlap? I mean, if you could find—

"No, this is fine, Kincaide… Gally, you need to—

"Alright, I know when I am not wanted," the other female officer stated, joking.

The room exploded with chuckles. Hearing the signs of light-hearted fun made some of Nasira's sense of anxiety disappear. She heard footsteps approach the door, and soon, she was met by another woman. The woman was taller and had a broader than her five-nine inched frame. Both women shared the same cocoa-brown skin, deep-set eyes and thick lips. Nasira's dark brown eyes were drawn to the woman's face, in particular, her cheeks. The officer's face held three thin, vertical scars underneath each eye. A wave of coldness touched her skin, when her brain alerted her about the important scenery. 'Poplar… She's from the Poplar clan.' Her dark brown eyes were met with another pair of dark brown orbs. "P-P-Poplar," she blurted out.

The brows that were above those unfamiliar dark brown orbs wrinkled, in response. Seconds later, the lips that were several inches below those eyes uttered, "How do you know that?"

Nasira didn't hear any malice or anger in the woman's voice. There was a sense of surprise. The type of surprise that would come from serendipitously meeting a long-lost childhood friend. "I-I have family. I'm from _The Firs_ ," she reported.

The brows smoothed out and rose while the eyes glowed with familiarity. " _The Firs,_ eh? They're good people. Y'all have some that are assholes, though. But, most of y'all are good people," she told Nasira.

Nasira heartily giggled. "Thank you," she sighed, after taking a break between giggling spells.

"So, you're the mommy-to-be that is getting the search?" Officer Galveston queried.

"Yes," she answered as she nodded her head.

"Okay, well, step inside and Officer Dunlap will mediate the search," the officer told her before stepping out of Nasira's path.

"Thank you," she told the woman.

"You're welcome, dear." Once Nasira stepped into the threshold, Officer Galveston announced into the room. " _Hey Dunlap!_ This one here is my fam, so be nice to her, alright?"

Nasira stepped out of the threshold and peered into the room. She was surprised to find a small and cozy setting inside of the room, instead of a sterilized and hospitalized environment. She entered a room that contained white walls with framed art and lounge furniture. She discovered Officer Dunlap sitting at a small café-styled table, in a comfortable-looking straight-back chair. A paperback novel and a half-eaten sandwich were on the table. Even as she sat in her chair, Nasira knew that she possessed an imposing form. She was dressed like the other guards, in all-black attire: a pair of black cargo pants, a long-sleeved shirt, a gun holster around her hips and a pair of black boots. Her long, blonde hair was styled in a French braid and tied off with a bright pink hair tie. Her smiling face was aimed towards both Officer Galveston and her.

"Oh yeah?" the woman said cheerfully. She aimed her attention to Nasira. " _You're one of those tree-people_?" she jibed.

 _'Tree-people_. I haven't heard that one in a long time.' She deeply inhaled and then nodded her head. "Yes. I am," she confirmed.

"Well, _oh shhhh-it_ …" chuckled Officer Dunlap. " _We have some tree-people, up in this prison_!" The guard laughed. Once she simmered down, she announced, "Well, darling, let's get this search started, so Kincaide can take you over to see the warden". She stood up and she shoo'ed both guards from out of the room.

"I'll be waiting outside, Miss Grant," Officer Kincaide announced as he crossed the threshold.

"Okay, Sir," Nasira told him as she stepped further into the room.

Once the door closed, Officer Dunlap turned to Nasira. "Alright ma'am, let's get started." The officer locked the door and then stepped away. "First, let me explain what will happen. Everything that you will be doing in here will be committed _only by you_. I'm not going to touch you. All I am going to do is hand out orders and observe you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay… Let's get started," the woman declared as she crossed her arms. "Ma'am, please take off your shoes and place them in front of you," she ordered.

"Okay," she murmured. Nasira dropped down to one knee and she proceeded to strip her feet from her sandals. Once freed from her shoes, her right foot gently kicked them in front of her.

"Your shorts, please" the officer instructed.

The anxiety level had rose. Her stomach convulsed. Her fingers were drawn to the fastenings of her black, denim cut-off shorts. She unbuttoned and then unzipped her shorts. She rapidly drew the article of clothing down her shapely legs before she could even feel a twinge of cowardice and remorse.

"Pass me your shorts, please." Once Nasira passed along her shorts, another order was issued. "Your underwear and shirt, please."

The pace in her heartbeats sped up and her stomach unleashed a growl of uneasiness. 'Okay, just get this over and done with,' her conscience urged. Fingers grabbed the hemline of her tank top and began to peel away the top. Once freed, she passed the shirt to the guard. Her hands attacked the elastic band that was attached to her underwear. She pushed the fabric down her lips and she slipped out of them.

"I don't need to see your underwear," Officer Dunlap pointed out. "Just your bra."

'Alright,' she murmured in her head. Her hand tossed the scrap of fabric to the floor. She slowly rose into an upright position and she attempted to display her sense of modesty. Her left leg crossed over her right leg, effectively shrouding her hairless seam with her thigh.

"Oh darling…"

Nasira's fingers grabbed the plastic closure that kept the brassiere's cups together.

"…there's really no need to cover your girly-parts up," the guard suggested.

With a firm flick of her fingertips, the plastic fixture became undone. With a few swipes from her hands and a shimmy from her shoulders, the bra was peeled off. She gathered the item in her right hand and then she extended her appendage in front of her. She glanced at the investigating officer, who was still in the process of searching the tank top.

Once Officer Dunlap finished, she politely draped the top across her thick left forearm. She looked to Nasira. "Thank you," she murmured as she reached for the bra. She began to search the bra for weapons.

The Dauntless mother watched the guard weigh the bra as she held onto it. She bounced it in her right palm a few times. Then she flipped the bra over to check the interior of the lingerie. Her fingertips punctiliously made small presses into the thick seams of the black, cotton fabric. Nasira's brow crumpled while she tossed the woman an inquisitive look.

"I'm searching for weapons and other contrabands," the officer informed her while answering her silent question. "The prisoners… They receive visitors… Even though they are nothing but pond scum. They have their girlfriends… Their wives… They come up here and sometimes… They try to sneak in drugs or weapons… Bras is one way they sneak things in….But from the looks of things…. Your bra is empty." The officer continued to observe the brassiere.

"What kind of weapon would be hiding in a bra?" she asked, shivering due to the cold air and her anxiety.

"You'd be surprised," the officer answered as her eyes were still focused on the lacy bra. "I'd once found a small baggie of cocaine stitched into the underwire section of a bra. The woman—An Abnegation woman, _on top of that_ —had wrapped a bag of cocaine and placed in the area of her bra, where the underwire goes. I assumed that she believed we wouldn't search her bra, ever since she is an Abnegation woman and modesty is their whole… _thing_. I guess she had forgotten that we don't follow those rules here." She placed the bra over her forearm. She glanced at Nasira. "Alright ma'am, I need for get down in a squat for me," she ordered.

'Wait… What?'

"Ma'am, I need for you to get into a squatting position," the officer repeated.

"W-Wha-Why?" stammered Nasira.

"Well," Officer Dunlap stated so nonchalantly. "There is another place where women would hide contrabands and weapons. Actually, there are _two places_ where women hide drugs and weapons."

It took a few seconds for Nasira to realize which places Officer Dunlap was talking about. 'Oh. My. God.'

"So…" Officer Dunlap's right hand pointed to her, a gesture for a continuation. "Please, ma'am."

'Okay… Okay-okay-okay. I have to do this.' She had taken a deep breath and she slowly descended towards the floor. She kept her legs close together as she squatted down. Her body was showered with embarrassment and heat. Her eyes focused on the carpeted floor.

"Ma'am, I need for you to open your legs for me, please."

"W-W-Why?" Her fear-filled eyes focused on the woman.

"Because…" she sighed. "I need for you to cough. With your legs opened, the cough will cause any type of contraband to…" She had fallen into a stream of stammering as she attempted to produce a clever and modest word. "Ah, _slide out_."

'Oh my…'

"Ma'am, you don't even have to look at me. You can face the opposite direction, if you want to," the officer suggested.

Nasira pressed her right palm against the carpet and she balanced her weight into her right arm. She turned her body around, so her back could face the officer. 'I can't believe this shit,' her brain groaned as she resumed the position. She glanced down at the pair of naked thighs. She took a deep breath in and spread her thighs apart. 'I _really_ can't believe this shit.'

* * *

After twelve minutes passed, the mother was gifted with a sense of relief.

"Okay… You can get dressed now," Officer Dunlap instructed.

Nasira performed a curt head nod as she closed her thighs together. She rose to her feet and turned to face the officer. She was immediately presented with her clothes. She murmured a sign of gratitude.

"I'm going to leave you alone, so you can have _some_ form of privacy," the guard said as she walked to the door.

"Th-Thank… You," she announced as she tried to slip on her left leg into her panties. She wanted to get somewhat dressed before that door was pulled open.

"You're welcome," Officer Dunlap announced as she cracked the door open. The woman opened the door for a few more inches and then she slid into the space. She quickly closed the door behind her as soon as she entered the corridor.

Nasira felt grateful for the woman's thoughtfulness and her sympathy towards her plight. After she finished slipping on her clothes, she left the room. Like he promised, Officer Kincaide was waiting for her. He was leaning against the wall that was facing the door, in a casual stance. As soon as he spotted her, he stood upright and threw on his shield of professionalism.

"Miss Grant, is everything alright?" the male officer inquired.

She nodded her head. "Yes, Sir, everything is fine."

He offered a subtle smile. "Okay… Follow me, please."

She gave him a curt head nod and allowed the officer to lead the way, back down the corridor. As they walked down the green-tiled flooring, they came across the pair of female officers, Officer Galveston and Officer Dunlap. The two women were heading back to the lounge room.

" _Hey-hey, see ya' later, family_!" Officer Galveston greeted her as they approached.

Nasira lowly giggled and smiled. "It was nice seeing you," she announced.

"Take it easy, fellow Tree-People!" retorted Officer Galveston, chuckling.

Officer Kincaide guided Nasira back to the checkpoint station, which was planted near the elevator bank. Her sight sought after the presence of her brother. She found him, a few seconds into her search. He was standing next to entrance of the corridor that was facing the corridor that she was exiting. He stood next to Officer Goodwin.

"So… It wasn't as bad as you thought it would be?" queried Trigger as soon as she joined his side.

Nasira gave her brother a hard glower.

"Staff Sergeant Grant… Miss Grant. Please follow us," Officer Kincaide instructed. He turned away from the siblings and proceeded to walk down the second corridor with his partner. The Grant siblings followed.

After a moment of listening to footsteps that were echoing in the corridor, she asked her brother a question that was roaming in her mind since the beginning of their voyage. "Trig, do you know what's gonna happened, when we go to the warden's office?" she asked in a low tone.

"No. I was instructed to accompany Private Turk and Private Galloway, when they picked you up from your place. I was given the details about Eric's case from Defense Leader Grant and as you know, the information wasn't much," he explained. "But what I do know is that Eric will be visited by a lawyer while he is here. I don't know if the lawyer will show up today or tomorrow, but it is vital that he sees one. They cannot proceed with his punishment until he does."

"He has a right to a counsel," she filled in the blank.

"Bingo," Trigger muttered. "It would be better for him, if he chooses to have a lawyer and wanting to have a trial. At least with a trial, it will be stretch out for a few months."

"I hope so," she murmured.

"I hope so, too. Especially, ever since you and Little Big Man is going to be affected by his decision."

A minute later, the siblings had come to an end for their journey. The small group of four people arrived to a pair of closed doors. Each officer opened a thick, metal door and held them open, so the siblings could enter the quarters. Nasira immediately scanned the area as soon as she set foot inside. She was surprised to see the small waiting area that was on the other side of the door. The room was richly decorated despite having two metal, school-like doors as an entrance. The pleasant, woodsy scent of the Amity calming oil was floating through the air. Each of the four walls were aligned with tall, wooden bookcases. In one particular wall, there was another pair of doors, which she assumed led to the warden's office. Located diagonally across from the pair of doors, there was a wooden, semi-circular shaped desk. It was a few feet in front of one bookcase. The typical office equipment and supplies were stored on the desktop: a computer monitor, a keyboard along with a mouse, a desktop lamp and a family of pictures frames. The seating arrangement was a few feet in front of the desk: six chairs that were formed into two rows of three seats and they were facing each other. There was an oblong-shaped, wooden coffee table occupying the space that was in between the two rows of chairs. The floor was covered with a soft and plush, dark brown carpet. Then she noticed that there was an occupant inside of the room and the woman was apparently waiting for them.

"Good morning," the woman, who was the receptionist for the warden, greeted the two Grant children. She sat in the rolling chair that was behind the desk with her hands folded on the desktop.

Nasira found the woman's level of cheerfulness to be too high and too odd, due to the environment in which she worked in. She also gave the woman a silent, physical assessment while she sat in her straight-back chair. The Dauntless mother gathered that the secretary possessed a short stature, due to the size of her upper body. She owned the typical, 'Dauntless woman's physique': an athletic-yet-not visually distracting physique. Her arms, which were covered by three-quarter inched sleeves, were toned. Her waist was small and defined with a curve. Her stomach appeared to be flat and lack any rolls and folds. Nasira considered the secretary to be physical pretty, in a 'girl-next-door' kind of way.

"Good morning," Trigger greeted the woman

The woman's voice knocked her out of her reverie. Her eyelids performed a few blinks, an attempt to chase away the fog that covered her mind and blocked out her alertness. She re-focused on the secretary. "Good, uh, good morning," she embarrassingly addressed the woman.

The secretary gathered some distance in between herself and the desk, by pushing the chair closer to the bookcase. She quickly stood up as she stared at the siblings. "My name is Cassandra. I am the executive administrative assistant to Warden Clarke," she introduced herself as she strolled to the front of the desk. "Warden Clarke and Defense Leader Grant are expecting you," she informed them. She made her way over to the siblings with her right hand extended in front of her. She arrived to Trigger's personal bubble, first. The Staff Sergeant immediately accepted her hand's proposal and shook her hand. "You guys had just missed Mr. Dwyer and the Honorable Burns, a few minutes ago. They wanted to meet you two, but they had to go to an important function and they needed to be there on time," she reported. The woman released Trigger's hand and then searched for Nasira's hand. "But, Warden Clarke said that they aren't needed for this meeting," she further informed them as she shook the mother's hand. "So, would you please follow me?" she announced, as soon as, she released the hand.

Both siblings gave the smaller woman a subtle head nod. Then, they followed her as she guided them to the pair of wooden doors that were planted in the middle of two bookcases. They watched her delicate fingers formed a series of short knocks on the left door. She waited a few seconds and then she opened the door. A strange dimmed lighting met the three people. Once the door was opened wide enough, she slipped into the office. Her eyes were focused on the occupants.

"Warden Clarke… Defense Leader Grant… Staff Sergeant Grant and Miss Grant are here," Cassandra pronounced.

"Allow them to come in, Cassandra, thank you," said a voice from the other side of the wall.

The secretary gave a short head nod before wordlessly summoning the pair to come into the office. Trigger allowed his sister to enter the room first before he followed.

"Warden Clarke, I'll be at my desk, so if you need anything…"

Nasira automatically felt her uncle's presence inside of the office despite not being able to see him. The entire office was covered in darkness except for the desk. On the desk, there was a small circle of light spilled all over the desktop, courtesy from an ornate lamp that was poised on the upper left corner. Thanks to the soft orange-yellowish light, she detected movement from behind the desk and in front of it. Her sight caught the appearance of a pair of crossed legs. They were in front of the desk.

"…then just give me a call, please," the secretary informed him.

"Thank you, Cassandra," the voice announced.

"You're welcome, sir," the woman told her. She glanced to the front of the desk. "Defense Leader Grant, would you like something to drink or something to snack on?" she asked, in a kind voice.

"No dear, I am fine. But… Thank you," the pair of legs declared.

In response, the secretary smiled and nodded her head. She glimpsed at each sibling and gifted them with a smile before making her exit from out of the office. There was the sound of a soft clicking, a few seconds later. It was followed by the sound of wood scraping along a hard surface.

"Good afternoon, Staff Sergeant Grant. Miss Grant," said the voice of Warden Clarke, a few milliseconds later.

"Good…"

"…afternoon."

The siblings had spoken their greetings simultaneously.

A dark, obscured figure made its way to the side of the desk. "My name is Warden Clarke…" The obscured figure made his way from the desk and into their location. "…I wish that I could've met you two under different circumstances…" Trigger was the first person that he approached. "…Staff Sergeant Grant," he stated in an authoritative tone.

"Warden Clarke… It's nice to meet you, finally," Trigger stated, with his own level of authority. "Over the years, I've so many things about you."

"I hope most of those things were good," the warden jested.

"Well, most of the stuff that I heard had come from my unc—I mean, Defense Leader Grant," answered Trigger.

"Well…" the warden said slyly. He peered over his right shoulder, at the front of his desk. Then he returned his stare to Trigger. "…if most of the stuff had come from him, then I know that _most_ of it was bad!" The office was filled with streams of masculine laughter.

Once the laughter died down, Trigger simply said, "No... No-no-no… Most of the things were good. _Very good_ ".

"Well, that's good to hear," the warden told him.

Seconds later, Nasira watched the darkness-covered shape make its way over to her. His frame blocked out the only source of light that was inside of the office. Up close, she took note of his broad and large frame. Despite being large, she didn't feel an imposing nature creep off of him.

"Miss Grant…"

She felt the presence of one of his hands linger around her left hand. 'A handshake.' Her right hand blindly cut through the air in search of his hand

"…once again, I wish that we would've met under different and better circumstances."

Her fingertips accidentally grazed a bit of flesh that didn't belong to her. She figured that it was his hand.

"Ohh shit… I totally keep forgetting about the lighting in here," she heard the warden say. Suddenly, his hand brushed up against hers. She heard subtle clicking noises, a few seconds later. "Lights… Forty-eight percent."

She immediately shielded her eyes from the light that she knew was about to spill into the office. There was a subtle noise and a subtle shift in the office's temperature as warmth penetrated the room. She slowly opened her eyes and was welcomed by the image of a broad torso, encased in a black blazer and a black buttoned-down shirt. Her vision drifted northwards to his face.

Warden Clarke was the owner of a face that her mother would called a 'boxer's dream'. Nasira could the past battles that this man had to face because the reminders were left there. Scars marred his forehead, the bridge of his nose and his left cheek. There was a faint scar disrupting the natural border that was in between his top lip and his former Cupid's Bow. His nose was slightly off, which was a typical after-effect for having it previously broken. Her eyesight caught wind of the image of a 'cauliflower's ear' that made up his left ear. She couldn't see his eyes, thanks to the pair of black sunglasses that covered them. She quickly figured out that the soft clicking sounds belonged to his fingers' actions as they opened up his sunglasses, before he summoned up the lights. His face possessed the signs of old age, as well. Finely-approached wrinkles framed his eyes and around his mouth. His cheeks appeared to be thin, sagging layers of flesh over his high cheekbones. His prominent chin held a blanket of gray-silver stubble, which spread out over his jawline.

Once she noticed that his bespectacled orbs were staring at her, she felt a subtle wave of intimidation strike her spirit. She glanced down at their joining hands and became a spectator to their handshake. "It… It's alright," she softly declared.

"Well…" His hand, with a finesse in its actions, released Nasira's appendage. He slightly turned his upper body to face his desk. "…please… Come on in and have a seat," he announced as he turned to face the siblings again. Then he pulled away from Nasira's space and he began to walk back to his chair.

"Thank you, Warden Clarke," said Trigger.

"T-Thanks," she muttered as she eyed his retreating back.

Her sight bounced off of his back and landed over the interior design of his office-suite. It reminded her of Eric's office with its preference for dark colors. Just like the waiting area, there were tall wooden bookcases that were aligning some walls: the wall behind the warden's desk and the wall that was two yards across. The wall that was facing the office's entrance was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows that were shrouded with black, cloth shading. Creases of sunlight peeked from underneath the crevices that were made from the space in between the shades and the windows.

"A flash bomb had gone off in front of my face, when I was an initiate," she heard Warden Clarke say.

She looked away from the windows and stared at the warden. He was in the process of pulling his chair out. His sunglasses-covered eyes were aimed at her.

"When I was at the tail end of my initiation, a couple of bozos broke into the armory and brought back a few souvenirs, one being the flash bomb. They playing with it… 'Hot Potato,' to be exact and the pin was released just as it was about to pass in front of me. The bomb had gone off….It was the case of me being in the wrong place and at the wrong time..." The warden sat in his chair. "…The doctors, up in Erudite, tried to restore my sight with the best that they could. I can see somewhat. But only in dark places, which is why my office is always dark. And if I do have to go into the light…" His right index finger pointed to the sunglasses that were perched on his face.

'Damn,' her brain sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Warden Clarke."

"Don't be, Miss Grant. You weren't one of the bozos. And besides, at the time, I didn't feel any pain or anger towards them. I was too worried about being cut from the ranks and sent to live in the factionless territory. So you can imagine my relief, when I was told that I passed." The warden chuckled. But it was the strain of laughter that was derived from a sense of joyfulness. It was the type of laughter that was a sharp tool, which was used to cut through the tension that was about to cloud up the office. Once the laughter died down, his right hand pointed to the front of his desk. "Please, have a seat," he said, once more.

Nasira and Trigger strolled up to the front of the desk. In the corners of her eyes, she saw her uncle rise from his spot that was in front of the desk. She had taken the ornate, wooden chair that was on the right. She eyed her brother and noticed that he was still standing.

"Defense Leader Grant, you can have—

"You can take the seat, son," their Uncle Xerxes pronounced to Trigger as he stood in front of him.

"No, it's alright. I prefer to stand," the younger Grant male confessed. "You can have the seat, sir."

"It's alright, I'll stand, too," the faction leader informed him. He reared away from Trigger and began to walk into the windows' direction. "My legs were starting to lose circulation anyway."

"Alright…"

Nasira stared at the warden.

"…ever since the seating arrangements is now clear…"

A dark object managed to cut into her viewpoint. It was below her vision's range. Her eyes drifted down and a view of a name plaque came into her range. _'_ _Warden Claudius M. Clarke'_

"…let's get to it, shall we?"

Her dark sherry-colored eyes focused on the warden.

"Yesterday afternoon, around thirteen-hundred hours, Dauntless Leader Eric Lucien Coulter had become Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight..." He placed his folded hands on the desktop. "...He was brought here, directly from the crime scene…"

 _'_ _Crime scene.'_

Just hearing that term made Nasira's spirit become soak with fear and dread. Her heart began to race against the dull aching that was emitted from her chest. Her cheeks buzzed with an annoying vibration while her ears filled with an unfamiliar brand of pressure.

"…He was in a medically-imposed, subdued state, when he arrived…"

'He was tranquilized?! Yeah... He was... Shit, tranq—I'm making it sound like he was a wild animal,' she said to herself.

"…which made the registration process easier for our staff—

"Registration—

"Process?" Once Nasira nodded her head, Warden Clarke continued. "The prison…When we receive new prisoners, they have to go through a registration process. They are giving a physical examination and the opportunity to tell us if they have any important health issues. They are given drug tests…"

A frigid chill touched down on Nasira's brown-toned flesh. It left her limbs to perform a subtle tremble, in its wake.

"…For our female prisoners, they're also given pregnancy tests as well. They are given an identification number and they are instructed and informed to only identify by that number during their stay here. Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight was placed in our solitary confinement wings rather than in the general populated areas due to the level of threat is high for him," the warden informed the siblings.

"Level of threat? Why?" Nasira asked, feeling alarmed for Eric's safety.

Instead of Warden Clarke answering the question, her uncle decided to answer. "He's a leader, Miss Grant. Any person of high ranking in our societies will be place in solitary confinement, for their safety. Even though the prisoners are stripped of their former lives…"

' _Former lives_?' The term managed to open up a new world of possibilities for Eric's impending future.

"…they might have some enemies residing in this place. They could end in up fatal circumstances."

"Plus, we want to keep Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight away from the population due to his problems with drug consumption," Warden Clarke pointed out. "We're experiencing a problem here in the prison, in which the prisoners are finding ways to get high. Wept is one of those drugs that are being snuck into the prison." To further explain, "His… Ah, his drug test came back positive for Wept. In fact…" The warden glanced down at the stack of paper that was on his desktop, in front of him. His thick and knobby fingers caressed the surface of the top page. "…He…" His fingertips tapped a particular spot. "… Was tested and there were three strains of Wept found in his system. One strain held unknown origins, in fact." The warden stared at Nasira. "With that many drugs floating around in his system, I would say that he was a ticking time-bomb, in my amateur opinion."

'Salome. Pandora. Lilith. Mary. Tzipporah… Which one he could've been taking?' She glimpsed at the desktop.

"You look like you have a question on your mind, Miss Grant," the warden said to her.

'Aha… I have several, to be quite honest with ya.' She stared at the man that was sitting in front of her. She noticed the lack of anger and taste of righteousness come from his large frame. She found it to be odd. He was a prison warden, after all. She expected for this man to carry a sliver of anger and self-righteousness to go along with the shroud of authority. 'Maybe he knows something about life that I don't know,' her conscience concluded. She nibbled on her fat bottom lip. "I have a few of them," she confessed, as she freed her thick flesh from her teeth's clutches.

"Shoot," he told her.

He reminded her of her late father, at the moment. 'Shoot,' was his favorite word of affirmation. 'Not. Now,' her conscience reminded both her brain and her heart. She made a firm sigh and a swallow. Her brain, in response, began to flood her mind with inquiries. She accepted all of them and deciphered which question was important and pressing for an answer. The most glaring one was the first to be asked. "Is he feeling alright?" As soon as she said it, her cheeks became inflamed with a blush while her spirit was flooded with shame.

 _"—_ _I shouldn't have never allowed you to stay in Dauntless! You should've stayed in Amity!"_ the phantom version of Eric spoke inside of her mind.

'And here you are… Feeling concerned about his well-being,' her insecurity reminded her.

"Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight…"

Her level of irritation rose to a higher height, every time she had to hear the reference to Eric. She wanted to _correct_ the warden, every time.

"…is…" His brow wrinkled while his lips pursed. He was contemplating. "He's fine, in the sense that he is not in danger. But, he is going through a case of drug withdrawal. He is not in the shape to talk to anybody, right now…" He glanced at the office's door. "…The 'RTC' and a Candor Judge was just here and they had to leave because he wasn't in any shape to talk to them."

"RTC?" she murmured.

"The 'Right to Counsel', is the correct term," the warden informed her. "Every prisoner, before their sentencing, have the right to consult a lawyer about whether or not if they want to prove their innocence. The judge was here because he would've served as a witness to hear Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight's decision."

"Oh," she murmured.

"What's your next question?" the warden asked, after a few seconds of silence.

'Okay… Next question.' "Why am I here?" she blurted out. She glanced at her uncle, who continued to walk around the warden's office. "I know why my unc— _I mean_ … I know why Defense Leader would want me to know about Err-Eric's arrest…" She stared at the warden. "We have a son together. But, I'm not like… _His wife_ _or girlfriend_ or anything like that. In fact, he _does_ have a girlfriend and I would think that she would've wanted to be here for him."

"Mmmm…" Once again, the warden glanced down at his document's cover page. "…He may have a girlfriend, Miss Grant…" He glanced at her. "…But you're on his 'U.I.C.O.E. List' as his 'primary emergency contact,'" the warden told her.

A gentle wave of light-headedness touched her just as the shock struck her spirit. 'I… I'm his…'

"Prisoner Seven-sixt-three-thirty-eight has _just you_ on there, in fact," informed by Warden Clarke.

Before she could even remotely feel a sense of flattery, her insecurity managed to rear its ugly head and whispered, 'He put you there because if he did get into a jam…Anissa is a busy…'

 _'_ _Anissa… She's smart… intelligent,'_ Phantom Eric promoted inside of her skull.

'Doctor. Too busy to bother to take care of him. You see… He's just looking out for her. His girlfriend. You're his nursemaid.'

The voices left their marks on her, both on a spiritual and physical plane. Her heart raced due to a different cause, now. Her eyes were coated with a tell-tale stinging sensation. Her spirit had grown darker.

"It is customary for the primary emergency contact to be notified, when their…" He paused. "If their _name_ comes up on anybody's contact list," the warden told her.

"He has considered you to be an important person, Miss Grant…"

Her blurred vision landed on Trigger as he stood by her side. His deep-set, amber eyes were focused on her. She took note of the seriousness that were displayed in his orbs.

"…which is why you're on that list… _No one else_ ," her brother declared. He stared at her with an intention behind that glare. It was as if he was daring her to be contradictory.

'He…' Her thoughts jumbled. Nasira continued to eye her brother. She found it absolutely creepy that her brother could read her so well. She glanced at Warden Clarke.

"Did Staff Sergeant Grant…"

She glanced at the roaming man that was positioned behind her. Defense Leader Grant managed to find a stationary position in front of the window. He was aiming his brown-eyed gaze at her.

"…tell you the particulars of Dauntless Leader Coulter's arrest?" he asked.

Nasira shook her head. "Just that Eric managed to get into a fight with a new Dauntless member."

"It was worse than that," her uncle plainly stated. He sighed. "Miss Grant, we're not talking about a minor fight that could've occurred in a bar or at a party in The Pit, where two guys managed to get hop up on alcohol and their egos got the best of them. This was a brutal beating that should've never happened in the first place."

The trembling became more pronounced to her eyes. It wasn't just a dull vibration that was under her skin anymore. It left her hands with a steady tremor to the point, where she trapped them in between her knees. She disregarded the occurrence and focused on her uncle. "What… What happened?"

"Prisoner Seven-sixty-three-thirty-eight…"

She glanced at Warden Clarke again.

"…assaulted a former initiate of his, yesterday afternoon, in a training room that was inside of the Training Facility. He had beaten the kid up to the point, where the kid had to be air-lifted to Landsteiner-Popper in Erudite, for treatment. The kid is currently there and is—

"The doctors are still trying to save him," her uncle interjected.

Nasira deeply inhaled, an attempt to calm her raging adrenaline. "How bad are his injuries?" The inquiry was aimed to any one of the men, but she kept her eyes on the warden.

"Substantial," replied Xerxes. "If you ask me… I don't think the kid is going to make it. I say… It will be before the beginning of tomorrow morning."

An audible and wavering sigh fell from her lips. All three pairs of eyes were on her.

"Nass?" It had come from her brother, Trigger. Social cues were tossed to the wayside. He had spoken to her with a personal tone. Concern was etched in his voice.

"Miss Grant…" The warden said gently.

"Miss Grant… Nasira…" It was her uncle.

"…are you alright, ma'am?"

"…what's wrong, darling?"

"She's pregnant," Trigger suddenly blurted out, into the office and for the other men.

His announcement did provide a distraction for her wondering mind. 'TRIG!' her brain screamed out in anger. Her head whipped to the left side and she glared at her brother, the blabbermouth. Her eyes shot rays of contempt at him. She spotted the expression of remorse cross his handsome face.

"Well…"

Nasira eyed the warden. Her face still held a deep frown.

Warden Clarke shrugged his shoulders and a tight-lipped smile appeared on his lips. "… _congratulations_ on the new addition to your family."

"Thank you," she groaned. Her eyes glimpsed at her brother once more.

"You're welcome," he said to her with the same smile attached to his lips.

A tension-filled moment of silence had fallen upon the office-suite. Then suddenly, there was…

"Would you like to see the footage that was captured on that day, the incident?" asked the warden.

"Claudius, I don't think that's a good idea…"

Trigger, at the same moment, had spoken, "Um Warden Clarke, I don't think that my sister…"

"… for her to see that, right now."

"…right—

"Yes," Nasira told Warden Clarke. She nodded her head. "I want to see it."

"Nass…"

"Nasira, I've already…" Her uncle slid into her peripheral view as he squatted down next to the left side of her chair. "…watched the surveillance footage. _It's him_ , sweetheart. There's no need—

"I want to see it anyway, Defense Leader Grant," she told him as she eyed him. "I want to."

Xerxes deeply inhaled and then he nodded. A look of resignation graced his face. "Okay… Okay." He slipped back into his upright position "But as a warning, it is not a pretty sight." He took a few steps back. "You're gonna have to turn your seat around in order to see it," he informed her.

'What? ...Well… okay.' A whirring sound penetrated the atmosphere, suddenly. The air shifted behind her and there was a presence behind her. Nasira glanced over her shoulder and took note of the movement that came from the ceiling. With a slight tilt of her head, her eyes watched the bottom of a projection screen descend from the ceiling, from an opening. 'Oh…' She temporarily looked away, only to stand up from the seat. She turned to face the chair and she grabbed each of the armrests. She was about to pick up the chair, when Trigger approached her left side. "Trig, I got this," she explained.

"No, you don't. Now, scram," he ordered as he bent at his waist to pick up the chair.

"Trigger, I am just pregnant… I'm not some…" She released the chair's armrests and she made a few sideway steps. She gave her brother a look of mild distaste. "…weakling that needs help."

"I know. I know," he muttered. He picked up the chair without any strain. "But you're pregnant and I don't want you to add to your level of stress."

Nasira kissed her teeth, totally forgetting about the professional environment that she was contained in. She watched her brother arrange the chair in an appropriate fashion. He gave the seat an observatory glance before he allowed her to sit down. She glowered him as she sat down.

"Sorry," he mouthed before he backed away.

"Miss Grant?"

Nasira glanced over her right shoulder to stare at the warden. "Yes, sir?"

"Are you sure that you want to watch this video?" he asked. "It's… It's… Bad. Just like your uncle mentioned."

Once again, she nodded her head. "Yes, I am sure."

"Alright," he huffed. He glimpsed towards his right side of the desk. His hand picked up an object from the desktop. It was a handheld, black rectangular-shaped box, a remote controller. "I have to warn you, Miss Grant, that there will be a lot of shouting and screaming going on in this footage."

"Okay," she muttered as she turned her head forward to face the projection screen.

"Lights, power off," the warden ordered to the room's sensory counsel. A millisecond later, the office began to darken. The light that was coming from his desktop's lamp was the only light source in the office. It was joined by the blue light that came from the thirty-foot screen, a few seconds later.

Subconsciously, her hands cradled the hardened swell that was formed from her belly, as the screen came to life. Her sight was welcomed with the image of the infamous sparring ring that was inside of 'Training Room One,' the designated area for the initiates to train inside of. The presented scene had come from the viewpoint that belonged to a security camera, which was mounted high on a wall. It captured the ring, as well as, the sidelines and the bottom half of the room's exit. The image of the screen was framed with several digitized numerical sequences that recorded the time, location and the date of the camera's location.

Waves of voracious applause and jubilant cheering filled up the office and her ears' canals. The rounds of applause were expressed in rhythmic sequences while the cheering were constant.

 ** _"_ _WOOOOOO! LET'S GO, FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _ALRIGHT FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _YOU GOT THIS ONE, FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _GET HIM, FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _YOU GOT THIS, MAN!"_**

 ** _"_ _HE AIN'T NO MATCH FOR YOU, MAN!"_**

Suddenly, a man came into the camera's focal range. 'No… That can't be him… He looks like a grown-ass man.'

Thanks to the camera's sharp and color-synchronized format, she was able to make out his features. He entered the ring only dressed in baggy, black cargo pants and white tape covering his hands. The man was of average height, but he possessed a somewhat imposing stance. He possessed an athletic build. His arms were long and built with defined muscles. His torso could've been described in the same manner: 'long but with defined muscles'. Tattoos covered his chest, stomach and arms. Some managed to lose their details as they blended in with his tanned, fair skin. There was shoulder-length, shaggy blond hair on his head and a scraggly-looking mustache and goatee on his face. She peered at his face and noticed his handsome looks, immediately. Innocent-looking, bright blue eyes were the immediate draw for his face. There was a straight, aquiline-appearing nose and bright pink lips. He possessed prominent cheekbones and a defined jaw.

'He's handsome… And he knows it,' she said to herself as she watched the footage.

Nasira watched the former initiate perform a dance around the ring, where he skipped and occasionally came to a stop so he could spar with the air. She also continued to listen to the cheers.

 ** _"_ _FIX, YOU GOT THIS, MAN!"_**

 ** _"_ _LET'S GO FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _LET'S GO, BABY!"_**

 ** _"_ _HE DOESN'T HAVE SHIT ON YOU, DUDE!"_**

She felt the young man's arrogance come from off of the screen. But, she recognized it as being a typical teenager's personality trait.

 ** _"_ _YOU GOT HIM, MAN!"_**

 ** _"_ _YOU GOT HIM, MAN!"_**

Movement began on the left side of the screen. A millisecond later, she watched Eric enter the shot. Her stomach rumbled and her heart began to painfully thump against her breastplate, in response. She observed his features and was filled with a heavy sense of sadness. 'He…Looked the same,' her brain morosely whimpered.

Eric still contained the same sickly and drastically unhealthy appearance that he possessed four days ago. Like his opponent, he was bare-chested and without any shoes or socks on his feet. He wore a pair of black skinny jeans that hung below his hips. They showcased his 'Adonis' belt' and the pair of deep dimples that graced his lower back. In this video, his bruises did alter into a series of prominent colors against his pale skin, especially for the ones that graced his ribs and stomach. Her sight caught the images of white, sparring tape clumsily covering his meaty hands. She concluded that he performed the task himself. His face was covered in dark stubble, as well as, the shaved portions of his scalp. Two, red spots marked where his eyes were supposed to be.

'…Eyes… Got-damn it, Eric.'

'You will always be his nursemaid…' Her brain unleashed a fragmented memory that occurred on the night in which she last saw him. 'Always there to protect him and baby him as if he actually gave a damn about— ENOUGH!' Her eyes turned away and focused on her thighs. '…enough,' she meekly pleaded with herself. 'Just… Just stop it,' she said to her insecurity. Her conscience came to the forefront of her mind. 'Get it together, Nass.' She returned her focus to the projection screen.

Fix, the cocky initiate, was lightly skipping around an irate Eric, who stood in the center of the ring. The kid enjoyed the constant cheering and the shouted well-wishes from his former classmates. There was a joyous expression on his face. Occasionally, as he passed Eric's viewing range, he would stick out his tongue and wag it at the Dauntless leader. The action would cause waves of laughter each time.

All of a sudden, Eric made a charge into Fix's direction, an attempt at attacking the kid. The former initiate, however, had quick reflexes. He swiftly dodged Eric's attempt by side-stepping to his right. The faction leader made a series of clumsy and uncoordinated steps towards the edge of the matt in order to stop, as a result. There was a wave of laughter and applause from the initiates, who stood on the sidelines.

 ** _"_ _WHAT'S THE MATTER, OLD MAN?! YOUR KNEES AREN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE?!"_** the teenager shouted at Eric's back, taunting him. The training room filled up with laughter.

Eric made another foolish charge into the teen's location. Once again, the teenager rapidly moved out of the way. He stepped off to his left side. However, with this exchange, his hands shove Eric's left hip, propelling his speed as he ran to the edge of the mat. There was more laughter.

 ** _"_ _DID YOU SEE THAT?! HE ALMOST FELL OUT OF THE RING!"_**

Eric glared at the teenager, who simply raised his hands in mock surrender. " _Oops…"_ Fix sarcastically yelped. _"…_ _Sorry about that!"_ The former initiates that stood on the sidelines, erupted in laughter.

 _"_ _Fight. Me. You, little piece of shit!"_ growled Eric as he slowly made his way from the edge.

The teen cackled. _"_ _Why?!"_ He began to jog in place. _"_ _Where's the fun in that?"_ There was a smattering of laughter. _"_ _Are you always as quick to draw the gun?"_ Fix turned his attention to the sidelines to a point that was off-camera. _"_ _Hey darling, does he always draw first or does he—_

 ** _"_** ** _AAAAHHHARGH!"_**

Eric, once again, attempted to charge the agile teenager. Fix managed to move out of the dangerous path. This time, his right fist connected to the right side of his face.

 ** _"_** _ **OOOOOOOH!"** _

**_"_ _THAT'S MY BOY! THAT'S MY DOG!"_**

The training room became flooded with boisterous cheers and laughter. Fix playfully skipped around the ring, a few inches away from the edge of the platform. There were a few giggles from the spectators.

The laughter caused Nasira's sense of logic to rouse. The laughter was one of mischief and she sensed something was about to happen. 'What's he planning on doing?'

 ** _"_ _HEY… SHIT-FOR-BRAINS!"_** Fix jovially shouted at Eric.

Nasira's brown crumpled up with confusion. 'Why is he talking to Eric like that? He is a friggin' initiate!'

 ** _"_ _OH MY GOD! DID YOU HEAR…?!"_**

 ** _"_ _AYE YO… DUDE, HE'S A LEADER!"_**

 ** _"_ _YOOOOHOOOO! THE PANSY-CAKE WITH THE FUCKED-UP HAIR…"_**

Nasira's eyes had grown in diameter. Her jaw had gone slacked. 'What-in the-hell…'

 ** _"…_** _ **I'M OVER HERE!"** _ taunted Fix.

Fix expertly set up his trap with the inflammatory, verbal bait and he waited for the beast to take it. Unfortunately for the drugged-out Eric, he took the bait, a few seconds later. A rage-filled roar escaped his mouth as his feet propelled the rest of his large body forward. The Dauntless leader ran into the initiate's direction. Fix dodged Eric's aggressive form and allowed the leader to leap off of the sparring mat, as well as, the platform. The training room was filled with a raucous round of applause. The pool of applause rose higher, a few seconds later, when Fix performed a 'victory lap' around the mat.

 ** _"_ _FIX, YOU'RE CRAZY, MAN!"_** someone screamed from the sidelines.

Nasira looked away from the screen and she focused on her uncle. "Defense Leader Grant?" Once his golden-brown eyes landed on her, she asked the inquiry that was burning in her mind. "This former initiate? This… _Fix_? Uh, _what's wrong with him_?! I mean, with his behavior…" She glimpsed at the screen and noticed that Warden Clarke had paused the footage. She returned her stare to the faction leader. "…I've never seen anybody talk to a Dauntless leader, or even _a trainer_ , that way… _Before_." She glimpsed at the screen. "I've seen initiates who acted like they were tough shit, in front of the other initiates. But I've never seen them act this way towards leaders or to the trainers. I mean…" Her right hand casually pointed to the screen. "… _look at him!_ He's dodging Eric… _Sure!_ But _he's not afraid of him_. He is actually _toying_ with the man!" She glanced at Xerxes. "You don't find that to be odd?"

A sly smile crept upon his face. "I swear, you should've been working in the Defense department as a profiler," Xerxes remarked.

Warmth permeated inside of her cheeks.

Xerxes turned to the screen. "You're right," he confirmed. "His behavior is abnormal for a rookie member…" He sighed. "And I am partly to blame for it," he confessed.

'Wait… What?' She gave her uncle a deep frown. "How?"

"Last Thursday, on the day of the final rankings, Fix came to the Defense Department. I, and the other sub-leaders, offered him a position here."

Her eyes widened. "Wha—Why? He doesn't seem like the type that will take orders from anybody," she pointed out.

Xerxes hummed with an uplifting tone. "I really should've _pursued you_ , when it came to working here." He sighed. "In regards to your answer, we had our eyes on him since the beginning. We thought that he would've fitted in several places, in the department." He made a few steps toward the window. "Fix accepted our offer. As we were taking a tour of the Defense Department, one of the sub-leaders told him that the highest command was Max and me. Once he started working for us, he wasn't under the control of the other leaders. Fix asked me if this news was indeed true and I confirmed it. As you can see…" He glimpsed at the projection screen. "…he had taken that news into consideration."

Nasira turned her attention to the screen. The stillness that graced the screen was lifted and the footage resumed playing. The sound of loud applause penetrated the office.

Fix was skipping around the ring again. From the camera's vantage point, she could see the toothy smile on his face as he trotted.

Eric returned to the screen a few seconds later. She felt his rage as it spilled off of his half-bared body. The back of his head was facing the camera's lens and his face was pointed in Fix's direction. **_"_** ** _FIGHT ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"_** he shouted at the teen. He had taken three steps into the teen's location. **_"_** ** _STOP RUNNING LIKE A PUSSY!YOU AIN'T FUCKIN' DAUNTLESS, IF YOU CAN'T FIGHT!_**

Fix, then, mimicked Eric by reciting the leader's scolding. His friends that stood on the sides, laughed in response. _"_ _Do you hear this guy? Listen to this guy—_

 ** _"_** ** _FIX!"_**

The teenager finally made a mistake during this fight. After mimicking his former Dauntless faction leader, he turned his attention to his audience that stood on his left side, by the side of the platform. Eric saw the act as an opportunity. In four rapid and large steps, the faction leader charged. This time, he didn't miss his target. Once he was in close proximity, his meaty right fist managed to connect to the youth's right cheek.

 ** _"_ _OOOOHHH!"_** some of the bystanders groaned into the atmosphere.

Fix stumbled a few inches away from Eric. His hands reached up and attempted to nurture his injury. It was another mistake for the former initiate. His hands were occupied with the act of wiping away the pain and not protecting the body.

 ** _"_** ** _AAAAHHHH…"_** Eric's fist slammed into the vulnerable flesh that covered Fix's stomach.

The teenager unleashed a grotesque and pain-filled moan as his upper body folded over Eric's fist and forearm. His knees crumpled and his feet stumbled. A series of ragged coughs were spewed from his mouth.

 ** _"_ _COME ON, FIX! YOU CAN FINISH THIS!"_**

Eric's left hand snatched up tufts of the blond hair from the back of the teen's head. His feet performed a backwards step before he violently shoved the vulnerable teen into the center of the ring. The teenager's body sliced through the air. He tripped and fell to the blue, padded mat. His prone body rolled a few times.

 ** _"_ _COME ON, FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _GET UP, FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _YOU GOTTA—_**

The cheer was cut off by the thick and ferocious sound of blunt force trauma to Fix's face by a sturdy knee. The teen's head snapped up and a gurgling noise came from him. His body rolled onto his back. His body produced ragged breaths that were audible underneath all of the cheers. His hands lazily waved through the air.

Eric approached the prone and defenseless Dauntless rookie. He subjected the exposed weak-points with acts of his left foot's aggression. He stomped at Fix's chest and stomach as the cheers changed into shouts of horror and outrage. The teenager's body flinched with every one of the faction leader's impact.

 ** _"_ _YO-YO-YO… SOMEONE STOP THIS!"_**

 ** _"_ _FIX?!"_**

 ** _"_ _SOMEONE…"_**

 ** _"_ _DAUNTLESS LEADER COUL—_**

 ** _"_ _GET FOUR AND URIAH!"_**

Nasira's eyes were intensively focused on Eric. The screams and the initiates' fears became 'white noise' for her. She watched the Dauntless leader as he continued to throttle the former initiate until he had gone motionless.

 ** _"_ _OH MY GOD!"_**

 ** _"_ _FIX!"_**

 ** _"_ _SOMEONE STOP HIM!"_**

Eric's hands grasped handfuls of the battered boy's hair and held on as he straddled Fix's slumped shoulders. His knees rested on the pieces of the mat that were beside Fix's shoulders. The left hand clutched the teen's hair while the right fist ferociously attacked the subdued teen's head. With every impact, his head was grotesquely rocked to the side.

The screams became more frequent and louder for Nasira's psyche to ignore. They lured her fear to come out and taint her spirit.

 ** _"_ _NOOO! STOP HIM!"_**

 ** _"_ _FIX! FIX! FIX! SOMEONE—_**

Eric's hands found their way around the teenager's neck. His hands, which were now bloodied, feverishly choked the already-unconscious Fix. His hands forced the back of the former initiate's head into the mat, in a series of aggressive slams.

Movements occurred outside of the frame. It managed to spill into the frame, two seconds later, when another kid entered the ring. The unknown teenaged boy ran over to Eric, who was still choking the boy. The brave kid wrapped his muscled, right arm around the faction leader's neck.

 ** _"_** ** _LET GO, MAN!"_** The boy shouted into Eric's ear.

The possible savior attempted to pull the powerful form from off of the unconscious kid. But his efforts were proven to be unsuccessful. Eric abruptly released Fix's neck and proceeded to fend off the assault. He climbed off of his conquered victim and stood up. He grabbed the kid's thick forearm and he jutted his right hip out. Using his strength and upper body's weight, he abruptly leaned forward and off to the side, causing the teen to lose his balance. His body was pulled forward and over the faction leader's right hip. The kid landed on the mat and on Fix's unconscious body. Eric pounced on the would-be savior and gave the boy two hard strikes to the skull, rendering him dazed and incapacitated.

His red and swollen eyes gave the teenaged boy a hard glance before he had taken a few steps away. He glanced at the kids who stood by the sidelines. _"_ _ **FUCKIN' PISS-ANTS! FUCKIN' KIDS! I'M SICK OF YA!"**_ His feet made several aggressive steps into the direction of the ring's edge. **_"_** ** _YOU FUCKIN' WORTHLESS…"_**

 _"—_ _You're a waste! You're not a warrior! You should've stayed in Amity, when you were there!"_

A cold shiver stabbed at Nasira's body while the memory caused her insecurity to gain more longevity. Her already-pounding heart felt as if it was dropped into the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to will the impending tears away.

 ** _"…_** ** _NONE OF YOU ARE WORTH SHIT! LIKE THIS MOTHER—_**

 ** _"_** ** _AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _AH… OH MY GOD!"_**

The high-pitched shrieks and the screams snatched Nasira's attention away from her meddlesome thoughts. She opened her eyes and aimed her sight at the screen. 'Oh my…' Her eyes widened just as the thoughts and the activity appeared to have come to a halt. She couldn't turn away from the grotesque and horrifying scene as it continued to unravel. She watched Eric's thumbs crudely burrow through Fix's eyes. Streams of crimson spill—

"W-Where's your bathroom?" she gasped out as her eyes refused to peel away from the projection screen.

"It's right behind the projection screen. It's the first door that you will see," informed Warden Clarke. Even in her nausea-stricken state, she detected the sympathy in his tone.

"Thank… You," she mumbled before she leapt out of her chair.

"Would you like for me to turn up the lights, so you could see where you're…"

Nasira's sandal-clad feet performed a flurry of quick steps across the office. Her eyes stared at the unfurling scene that was presented on the screen. The image of Eric's blooded fists beating on an eye-less Fix was the last feature that she viewed. She slipped behind the projection screen and she began to travel to the bathroom.

The undigested contents that were hoarding in her stomach came spewing out of her mouth as soon as she stood in front of the toilet. She quickly sank to her knees as a putrid deposit came from her mouth. Her fingers violently grasped the toilet's sides while her body shook with each heave. Brash noises that were her retching decorated the walls. As she expelled the meager contents, her brain seared the image of thumbs deeply implanting themselves into eye sockets, into the front of her mind.

"Nassy?"

She heard her brother's call, even underneath the sounds of her retching. 'Trig?' A few seconds later, she heard the sound of running water filling up the sink. She made a heavy heave, which caused her body to convulse. 'Oh God, help me.' She made her final deposit into the toilet before she made a series of dry heaves.

"Nass, are you finished?"

The woman tried to nod her head as she continued to hack into the toilet. She unclasped the toilet's seat and she drew her right elbow onto plastic seat. She rested her forehead against her right palm.

"Come on… Sit up for me, then."

Nasira felt Trigger's hand gently clasp on her right shoulder. She obeyed his command and she sat upright. A cup of cold water was presented to her. She gladly accepted. She sampled a mouthful of water and she washed the sour taste from her mouth. She spat the contents into the toilet. Then she drained the cup. "Thank you," she murmured as her hand placed the cup onto the sink's counter.

"You're welcome." Trigger leaned against the sink's counter. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. His amber eyes were gazing at her. "How's your stomach?"

Nasira glimpsed at her thighs. "Still… Shaky," she answered.

"I wonder—

"What-the-hell is going on with my life?" she blurted out, in a hushed tone. It was an inquiry that wasn't aimed to her brother. "I'm… A _nobody_. I keep to myself. I don't hang out in sketchy places. I don't…" She paused. Her palms had gone to her hair. She growled in frustration. Her face slightly grimaced. "And now…" She glanced at the toilet's lid. "…I am about to become a mom to another kid." Her insecurity whispered, 'And both of them won't have their dad. Sure-as-shit, he is going to be execute—

"Nassy… Look at me."

Dark brown eyes stared at the man that stood next to her.

He remained rooted in his spot. "You're right… _You're in a fucked-up situation_. You're right about that. So… What are you gonna do about it? Right now, you can't afford to be stuck in this limbo, where you think about what _you should've done_. What you _could've done about it_. What would've happened if you did the right ship has sailed. Now you have to think about that you're gonna do for your babies. When you start up, think about them. When you're finding yourself slipping in that sort of depression and you're thinking about the things that should've happened, think about Luke and this baby. Force yourself to think about them. Then, get up off of your ass and go to work. Fight for y'all."

A shudder ran through her after she listened to Trigger's advice. Her brother was right; she couldn't think about the life that she wanted, not when she had other people depending on her, in order to survive. The last thing Nasira wanted was to become a woman that was trapped in her mind and inside of the past that she wasn't able to take care of her children. It wasn't the kind of mother that Eric and Rafe had, but she knew that her children would have the same childhood.

"I'm… Sorry about Eric, Nassy. I am. But you gotta think about your kids, honey."

A pair of smoldering blue eyes touched her mind. _'_ _I love you.'_

She heard his whisper in her ears. It felt so real that she touched her left ear, expecting to feel the dew from his soft talk.

"Are you okay to stand up?" asked Trigger.

"Yeah," she answered as she nodded her head. Trigger held his hand out and she accepted his proposal. He helped her come to her feet. She grimaced as she felt her stomach tremor in discomfort.

"Your stomach is not used to the movement," he pointed out.

Nasira nodded her head, once again. "Yeah," she lightly groaned.

A light-hearted chuckle escaped from his throat. "Well, come on. Let's go handle this situation, _Warrior_ ," he suggested as he grasped her hand. He gave her captured appendage a playful wiggle.

Her throat performed a light laugh and she gave him a warm grin. "Let's go," she muttered.

The siblings exited the bathroom and returned to Warden Clarke's office, where the two men were still occupying. The light to the room was powered to a suitable depth and the projection screen was gone. The scents of Trigger's cologne and brewing tea leaves reached her nose. Her stomach quivered in protest. She glanced over at the desk and noticed the plastic thermal cup sitting in the center of the desktop. A family of pre-packaged packs of saltine crackers surrounded the base of the cup.

"I had taken the liberty of having Cassandra order up some tea and crackers for you," the warden reported to her.

"Thank you, sir," she croaked, as she strolled up to the desk.

"You're welcome, Miss Grant. My wife used to drink tea and eat the same kind of crackers, when she was pregnant with our kids, so I thought… It was a sure-fire idea."

Nasira took a seat and gifted the warden a smile. She reached across the space that in between herself and the desk, to fetch the thermal.

"It's a commemorative cup," Warden Clarke pointed out.

She glanced at a side of the thermal and eyed the embossed, black insignia.

"We celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary, three years ago…" He pointed to the cup. "…We gave those cups out to the staff that works in the prison."

She observed the insignia and read the details. A sliver of joy managed to cut through the wall that was built up by her anger and her fear. She found the notion that there was a celebration for the prison's operation, to be funny.

"So…What happens to Dauntless Leader Coulter?" The inquiry had come from Trigger.

She glimpsed at her brother and then the cup again before she stared at Warden Clarke.

"Well, for right now and for the time being, Prisoner Seven-sixty-thirty-three-eight will remain in the isolation wing and away from the other prisoners. The attorney from the Legal League still needs to get his answer about if he wants to retain the right for a lawyer," the prison's operator informed the siblings.

"What's…" She immediately felt the three pairs of eyes on her. It caused her skin to prickle. "…going to happen to Eric, if he chooses not to fight this?"

"Then…" sighed Xerxes.

She glanced over her left shoulder to stare at her uncle, who stood in front of a window.

"…it is up to us leaders to discuss his punishment. We will meet up as soon as possible, after Eric has given his decision and we will deliberate. But the truth of the matter is… Max has the final say in his judgement, ever since he is the Alpha Regent Officer. The only thing we can do is offer suggestions and hope that Max will take them into consideration."

"How long will it take?" asked Trigger.

Xerxes shrugged his broad shoulders while a look of indifference marked his face. "One day… Two days… Eight days… Fourteen days… A month… As long as it takes," the seasoned Dauntless citizen informed the two siblings.

"H-Have you… Have you done this… _Type of thing_ , before?" she asked the faction leader.

Xerxes took a few beats of silence before he answered. "Unfortunately… Yes."

"What's the most common punishment?"

There was another stream of silence before he spoke again. "Execution."

A shudder ran through her body and she briefly closed her eyes. "W-Will you be the one to… To-To-To-To…?" She clamped her lips shut.

Xerxes shook his head. "We have someone who carries out that particular order for us. We call him 'The Redeemer'. He carries out all of the executions and the punishments in The Oculus."

The notion that her uncle was going to be the person who supplied Eric's skull with a bullet, evaporated from her mind. "Oh," she whimpered. "I—

"Claudius…" Xerxes abruptly announced, interrupting her statement. His eyes focused on the warden. "…do you mind if I could use your office and speak to Miss Grant privately?"

"Oh sure," confirmed Warden Clarke.

The sounds of the chair being glided across the floor caused Nasira to stare at the warden. Her vision landed on the man as he was in the process of raising from his chair.

"I have to make my daily rounds anyway…" the warden confessed as he straightened his blazer's lapels. Once he was upright, he slipped away from his desk. He strode up to the Defense leader. He held out his right hand in front of him. "Once you done, you don't have to worry about locking up. Cassandra will handle things." The men shook hands. "Is tomorrow's game still on?"

"Of course," Xerxes said with a sly smile. "So I advise you to prepare to have your ass handed to you," he teased.

Warden Clarke chuckled. "We'll see… We'll see." They released their hands. The warden gave the leader a brotherly pat on his left shoulder, signifying their farewell. The warden approached a seated Nasira and he held his hand out in front of him. "It was nice to meet, Miss Grant… Despite these circumstances," declared the warden.

The compassion that was laced in the older man's voice caused her throat to fill up, as well as, for her tear ducts. She offered a tight-lipped smile and then nodded her head. "It was nice to meet you too," her voice almost whispered.

Warden Clarke approached Trigger and began to engage in conversation with the younger man. The staff sergeant took a reprieve from the interaction and he glanced down at Nasira. "Nassy, I will wait for you in the waiting area, alright?"

"Okay, Trig," she softly said to him.

A few seconds later, the two men made their exits from out of the office-suite. The young, Dauntless mother was now left alone with the imposing Dauntless leader of Defense. As she sat in the ornate chair, her dark brown eyes took in the sight of the tall and broad frame that stood a few feet in front of her. She viewed Xerxes' movement as he made steps from the windows' location to the occupied chair that was positioned in front of the desk and next to her. A sigh escaped from his mouth as he made the move to have a seat. Before he could plant his backside to the padded cushion, Nasira felt the change that came from him. She viewed the rigidness leave his posture. The coldness that kept his emotions frozen and in check had melted. The cape of superiority and intimidation was lifted and tucked away into the corners of his mind. Defense Leader Grant had become her Uncle Xerxes within the time span of two seconds.

"Nassy…" he had spoken in the form of a weary sigh. His hand reached up to his forehead and caressed the weathered flesh. He gave his head a few rubs before his hand dropped down to the chair's armrest. His eyes focused on her, displaying their warmth. He offered her a gentle smile. "…how are you feeling, honey?"

"I… I am feeling fine—

"No." He leveled her a faux scolding gaze. "I mean, how are you _really feeling_?" He pressed his back into the chair's straight back while his left leg crossed over his right leg. "You're in a serious predicament and I know that the last thing that you're feeling is _'_ _fine'_ or _'_ _okay'_. So... _How are you feeling_?"

A shiver erupted in her, which was followed by a wave of heat. Her blurred sight stared at the blocked window that was a few feet behind his seat. Her brain waded through the muck that was her emotions and tried to make sense of everything. "I feel…" One emotion managed to push through the murky sludge and present itself. "… _Angry_."

" _Angry?"_ After a second, he nodded his head. "That's… Understandable. Eric… He managed to fuck up in a way that his life will forever be changed. _There's no going back_ to the way where things were like yester-year."

"I'm angry at myself actually, Unc," she confessed.

Xerxes' left eyebrow ticked. " _At yourself?"_

Nasira nodded. "Yeah… At myself." She glanced down at the bared portions of her thighs. "Eric…" She glanced at her uncle. "…We weren't on the best terms. He… He didn't treat me well. _I know this_ and yet… Here I am… Ready and willing to save this man, if I could," she confessed.

" _He didn't treat you well_? Nassy? Nassy, look at me," her uncle ordered.

Dark brown eyes landed on the pair of brown eyes that were across from her. She saw the small flame of anger in his orbs.

"Has Eric ever put his hands on you? Or, on Luke, for that matter?"

She shook her head. "No," she immediately declared. She decided to take solace in the fact that she somewhat told the truth. "No," she reaffirmed.

"No?"

She shook her head. "No," she repeated.

Xerxes doled out a soul-stripping glower before he simply stated an "Okay". His left foot settled down onto the floor. "Did you know about the Dauntless leader's drug abuse?"

Nasira decided to, at least, be honest about this. "A few months ago, I found out about it. It was on the day that Luke had tripped and hurt himself. I had gone to Eric's office to let him know about Luke's visit to the clinic because all of my text messages and phone calls were being ignored. He wasn't in his office. That is where I found a Wept vial. It was in his garbage can. That was the same day, when he became very aggressive towards me—

" _Aggressive_ …How?"

"He yelled at me and called me every name but the 'Child of God'. He apologized to me, later on that day. I forgave him. I assumed that he was short-tempered because he was cranky and stressed about the initiates. He told me that a few of them were giving him problems. But… Then, there was his behavior that occurred on the following day. We had gone to Erudite, to the Bureau of Records, to change Luke's last name. He was late. _Too late_ , in fact. I thought that he stood me up. I was on my way to my car, when he approached me. Once again, he was aggressive. He yelled at me and insulted me. He ended up getting some patrolmen's attention. They managed to calm him down. Then… He was aggressive towards me, once again, later on that night." She stared at her lap. "I should've known _before_ those two days that he was taking Wept. _For the past couple of weeks_ , he wasn't acting like himself."

" _Not like himself_?" asked Xerxes. "How? What do you mean?"

"He was short-tempered—No… Well, no. Lemme go back—The first signs occurred week before his acts of short-temper. He was happy, at first—

" _Happy?"_

"Like…" Her hands moved around as she tried to find the right words to describe Eric's behavior. "…Like… He was—You know how Eric is… He's not the _'smiling' type of guy_. He doesn't express his emotions, with the exception of being annoyed and irritated. He doesn't even let his initiates know that he is disappointed with them. So, now imagine _that Eric_ as the 'happy, smiling, laughing and playing with a toddler' kind of guy," she pointed out to her uncle.

"Oh…" Her uncle slowly nodded his head. "…now I see."

"I, especially, should've known, when he had shown up to my apartment on Luke's birthday…"

As she spoke, Nasira's mind reflected back to the day of Lucien's first birthday. She remembered the moments of when the toddler's usually-stoic father was crawling on her living room's floor and around the large leather sectional, 'chasing' after the Birthday Boy.

"…He had shown up to my home with presents and a cake for him. Then he spent most of the day playing with him. And I mean ' _playing-_ playing' with Luke. Like how you and my dad used to play with us, when we were kids. Eric had got on his hands and knees and he…" She giggled. As she laughed, plump tears left trails down her cheeks. "…chased Luke around and then he…" Her face fell into a soft grimace. "…let Luke chase him around…" She peered down at her legs and she sniffled. "…That was a nice day," she mumbled. She stared at her uncle. "And then… He disappeared for three weeks and when he returned, a monster had shown up in his place instead," she confessed. "He managed to become angry and scary…" Her left index finger pointed in the direction of where the projection screen had once hung. "…I've should've known that _that_ would've happened. I felt, at one point, his anger was just bubbling and boiling. I assumed that he would've managed to get his ass kicked in a barroom fight. Not... _this_." She sighed as she dried her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "How did that… _Happened_? I mean… _Why did_ _Eric decide to fight the kid_? Do you know why?"

"From my understanding, Eric challenged Fix to a fight after finding the kid flirting with his girlfriend," Xerxes informed her.

Snippets of memory, from the night at Club Inferno, entered her mind. '… _Anissa_. It makes perfect fucking sense.'

"The other former initiates told the Dauntless crime investigators that were investigating the incident, after Eric was detained, there was a beef between the leader and the kid since the beginning of the initiation trials. For the kid…"

Enlightenment struck her consciousness. 'So, he's the 'idiot initiate'. He's the one.'

"…he enjoyed riling Eric up and it made Eric grow to hate him. It has been going on for months now…"

Her insecurity whispered, 'And you told him to fight that kid'. Her heart began to thump, in reaction. 'No… I did not tell—

"—you ask me I think the drugs just made the situation go from bad to worse. I don't think Eric would've attacked that kid, or even fought him, if he was sober and clear-headed. I'm sure that once those drugs fully leave his system and he's stone-cold sober, he is going to be hit with remorse. But right now, he's feeling the…" Suddenly, the leader stopped speaking.

Nasira observed her uncle and expected for the completion of his statement.

Xerxes brought his right hand to his face. His fingers and palm rubbed his cheeks and jawline, a sign of contemplation.

'What?' her brain questioned as she eyed him.

His probing hand made its way to his chin. His fingers squeezed his chin while the corners of his lips twitched. A light ignited in his eyes.

'Okay… What?'

He removed his hand from his chin and placed it in his lap. He deeply sighed. "Would you like to go see him?"

* * *

Before she could enter the long corridor, she was struck by her fear. Her logic and common sense affirmed that she was safe. After all, she had her brother accompanying her and a pair of prison guards portraying themselves as bodyguards for the both of them. Yet, she still felt like she could've been snatched up by a prisoner and dragged into a dark, unreachable corner.

"Sir. Ma'am. This is one out of the eight isolation wings that we have, here in the Harry S. Truman Maximum-Security Correctional Facility," the guard reported, the one who stood directly in front of her. He spoke, but kept his visual focus on the scene that was ahead of them. "There are four wings on this half of the prison, the men's side of this place and there's four wings in the other half, where the female prisoners are kept. In each wing, there are twenty-three cells. Each cell is about the size of three-quarters of one standard bedroom. Being that this is the isolation wing and every occupant is kept in their cells for twenty-two hours every day, each cell has a sink, a toilet and a small shower cubicle to go along with their beds."

"Those twenty-two hours… The subtracted two hours?" asked Trigger.

"Those two hours are meant for recreational purposes. The non-violent prisoners are taken to a special section of the yard, where they will spend one hour, each visit. When it rains or snows or if it is unbearably cold outside, they will go to the gymnasium and spend the time there. Now, for the violent prisoners, each have their own private time. But with prison guards watching their every move."

Trigger unleashed a whistle of amazement.

"For the isolation cells, the prisoners either have to be a danger to other prisoners or they cannot be place in general population because they could be endangered. This place also housed special cases, such as Dauntless Leader Coulter," the guard informed him.

The small group of Dauntless citizens turned into the corridor. As soon as her feet stepped past the threshold, she was startled by a raucous roar that was shot into her right ear.

 **"** **WHOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOO! FELLAS! LOOK AT WHAT WE HAVE HERE!"**

The crass shouting had come from the other side of the metal door that was a few feet from her right side.

"What?!"

"What-the-fuck, Watkins?! I was fucking 'bout to go to sleep and ya ass just started screaming!"

"What-in the-ever-lovin' fuck is Watkins screaming about, Petey?!"

"Who-the-fuck knows!"

"This shit better be good, Watkins!"

"Petey, let me know what you see!"

"It's probably nothing, man!"

There were more verbal wonderings that were spilled outside of occupied cells and into the long corridor. The prisoners' statements filled up the cold hallway and were captured by Nasira's ears.

 **"** **YOU'LL SEE, FELLAS!"** the unseen prisoner named Watkins announced. A raspy, medium-volume chortle slithered from out of the small and narrow window that was on green-painted, metal door. **"** **SHE'S HEADED YOUR WAY!"**

" _She?!"_

"What-in the-hell are you talking about, Watkins?!"

"Watkins, there's a woman in here?!"

"Yeah, fellas! That's exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout! And she's a real beauty! I can smell her from where I'm standing and she smells lovely! Just like how a woman 'posed to smell like! Kind of like flowers!" the prisoner shouted.

The prison guard that stood in front of her aimed his gaze at the door. He pointed the tip of his nightstick to the door. "Shut your mouth, Watkins! Or, I'll shut it for you!"

The prisoner chuckled a malevolent-tinged laugh. "And she has some real pretty long stems on her!"

Nasira now regretted her decision of leaving her apartment in her chosen outfit: a pair of denim cut-off shorts, a tank top and a pair of bejeweled sandals. 'It's not your fault,' her conscience alerted her. 'Trigger had shown up, unannounced. We're lucky that Sophie was over.'

"Oh, what's wrong, _Officer Gutierrez_? Mad that I am staring at some trim that your-little dick-self won't get?!" taunted Watkins.

"Just ignore him, Nassy," whispered Trigger. "In fact, ignore all of them."

The pair of guards resumed their guiding process. The young mother was soon subjected to waves of boisterous cat-calls from the other imprisoned occupants.

" _Oooh_ … Yeah!"

" _Helllooo_ , Baby!"

"Look at the ass that she is carrying behind her! Whooo-wee!"

"It ain't the only thing that she's carrying that catches my eyes!"

"Please tell me that you're here to see me, baby!"

"She ain't here for your ugly mug!"

With every passing second, the layer of disgust became thicker as it lain on her spirit. Her skin was pricked by goose-pimples and waves of chills. She felt their leering eyes expose her to their lecherous intentions as if their words weren't enough of a display.

"If y'all don't shut-the-fuck up right now… **I WILL CUT OFF ALL OF YOUR FOOD RATIONS FOR THE REST OF THE WEEKEND!** " the guard, Gutierrez, declared. He broke away from the group and walked away. He traveled into the direction in which they left.

"Ma'am. Sir," she heard the second guard say.

She glanced at the mostly-silent guard and caught him staring at Trigger.

"Please follow me," he instructed before he resumed with their journey.

They left Officer Gutierrez behind. He was still scolding the prisoners. "— **FUCKIN' TRY ME!"**

She gave the officer a glimpse before she stared straight ahead. The second-in-command led them further down the green-tiled corridor. As they walked further, the waves of tension lessened. The goose-pimples melted away as soon as her skin warmed up and the pressure dissipated.

"He's in the final cell, on the right side," the guard reported. "The other occupants do not know who he is. He's been quiet since his arrival last night, so he hasn't given himself away."

Nasira took note of the coldness, the emptiness and the loneliness that was contained in this small part of the wing. There was no sense of life in this section. Her eyes scanned each side of the corridor. On both sides, the cell doors were left open, revealing empty rooms. Her eyes rapidly gathered information about the cells' layouts. Each room contained a small window that was unreachable, a bed that was made from slabs of concrete and was attached the walls. There was a covered, thin plastic pad on each slab. Across from the slab, there were the sinks and the toilets, both appliances were small. Next to the appliances, were the shower cubicles. A small kiosk that was built with white plastic walls and a green, plastic shower curtain.

"We purposely kept him in this section because no one is here and he can't contact any of the other prisoners and vice versa. There used to be some prisoners in this section, but they were removed. It was due to the fact that they kept up their good behavior…"

'Oh my God…' her brain moaned with disgust. Her palms immediately covered her nose, mouth and chin, an attempt to shield them. But it was too late. The strong and pungent odor that usually came with the existence of feces always struck her face. It affected her senses and her sense of nausea.

"…or in some cases…" The guard's right index finger pointed into an opened cell that was on the left side of the wing. "…they are taken out of the prison and…"

Nasira's eyes peered into the cell and she was immediately struck by remorse.

"…placed somewhere else," the guard told them.

She noticed the expression of indifference that was plastered on the guard's face.

"Take the former occupant of this cell. He was originally in our 'Gen-Pop' when he first came here. He had attacked his former cell mate. Killed him. So, he was placed _in here_ , where he spent the last seven years. This ain't his first little… _Art project_. He has done this since his arrival, except for this one, where he had chosen to use _his brains_ for this piece, to go along with the shit." The guard looked at the siblings. Then he returned his gaze to the cell. "Gutierrez and another guard found him, seven hours later. He was unconscious, but had a low pulse. He's at 'The Hole' right now, in a brain-dead state."

"Why…" Trigger stopped speaking, so he could groan. "So why no one hasn't clean… The cell?"

"Simply put: _budget cuts_. We had to cut back on the maintenance crew around here. Now they only show up _twice a week_ , Mondays and Fridays. Ol' Boy decided to do this last night and no one found him until this morning. _The cleaners are coming on Monday_ _morning_ to handle this…" The guard glimpsed at Trigger. "You can blame Erudite and that Jeanine Matthews and the rest of those greedy, Smurf-looking assholes for this." The guard looked forward and resumed walking.

Nasira looked at Trigger. There was a question plaguing her mind, but she didn't want to remove her hands from her face, so she could ask.

Lucky for her, her brother shared the same act of curiosity. "Why do you say that?" he asked the guard.

"Because… It is their fault that we are suffering from budget cuts," the guard told the staff sergeant. "From what I've read _and_ was told: the budget that belongs to Dauntless is being cut smaller and smaller because Erudite needs the money. Apparently those fucking egg-heads have managed to waste their own budget by spending it on researches and projects. You would think that those noses would've been smart enough to figure that shit out before it was too late. So, now every faction is giving them money in order to keep those assholes afloat."

"Wait… How is this possible? Doesn't the government—

"Which is run by Abnegation," the guard pointed out. "Those do-gooders were the ones that 'okay'd' this proposal, after all, it falls in line with their faction's mission. So thanks to them, we are giving away money."

The trio walked the rest of their journey in silence. It was until they were twelve feet away from the final two cells, when the silence was disrupted.

"We are here," the guard announced. He walked to the entrance that led into a cell. He stood off to the side, with his back facing the wall. His right hand grabbed onto a metal latch that was attached the small window and he pulled the window down. A square-shaped, ray of light shot out of the window and landed on the corridor's green-tiled floor. He glimpsed into the window. "He's uh…" He peered at the siblings. "…He's asleep, right now. From the looks of it, he had a rough night and morning. He's been sick since his arrival." He shrugged his shoulders. "I heard that he's been taking that Wept shit, so that explains it. He's going through withdrawal. I have a kid sister, who works in the clinic. She once told me…"

Nasira felt Trigger's gentle shove against her left shoulder. She gazed at her older sibling before she took a few reluctant steps into the door's location. The fringes of anxiety and fear tickled at her spirit, causing her body to react. Her eyes focused on the guard.

"…that the symptoms are nasty and painful. Nausea. Diarrhea. Incredible migraines that would make you feel like you want to kill yourself. Your skin is very sensitive to touch and every little touch hurts. Stomach cramps. Aches and muscle pains. Ugh!"

When she approached the door, the guard gave her privacy by walking away. She was welcomed by the smells of expelled vomit and urine as her fingers touched the door's cold surface. Her eyes used the small window to peer into Eric's cell. Her eyes widened while shock gripped her soul. 'Oh…Shit,' her brain hissed.

Eric's prison cell wasn't any different than the other cells. The walls were comprised of the same cinder blocks that were forged together and were slathered with the same emerald green paint. His cell held the same features and amenities that the other cells possessed. However, those cells didn't contain the unconscious body of a faction leader.

Eric Coulter was asleep on the dingy, dark gray floor. He was left in the same state that he was in, when he fought Fix, at The Training Facility. He was still shirtless and without socks or shoes. She eyed the blackened soles of his feet, which were severely dirty. The skin that held his chest, forearms and hands together was covered in the congealed form of Fix's blood. Vomit, also, managed to stick to his skin and his soiled skinny jeans. She concluded that his pants also contained the urine as well. His skin was ghoulishly pale. She assumed that his illness and his lack of nutritional intake were the causes to his skin's current condition. He lain on his left side, in a limp version of the fetal position. He was resting in close proximity of the toilet.

'He…'

Her eyes flickered over to his assigned bed, where she discovered a pool of vomit decorating the padding and a spilled stream on the floor below it. She turned her attention back to the disgraced faction leader.

'He's… He…'

She took note of the expression of pain that managed to stick to his once-handsome face. His brow ridge carried a deep frown. His reddened and swollen eyes were shut tight and his inflamed lids twitched. His bloodied nostrils were flared. His jaw tendons twitched as his lips occasionally pursed and snarled. There were days-worth of auburn-colored stubble covered his cheeks, chin and jaw. She noticed the steady streak of shaking that was attached to his body. He shook as if he was cold. She knew that it was more likely due to the lack of drugs in his system.

'He's… He's… I… I-I-I… He's… She did it. She… Fucking, did it.'

Blurred vision took in the sight of the man and her brain came to the conclusion that Anissa had reached her macabre goal. She had broken him down. She took the withered pieces that made up his character and she ground them into dust.

Nasira took in everything that was presented before her. The cell. The spots that were soiled with his body fluid. Finally, she stared at the sick man that lain on the dirty floor. She took a deep breath. She asked for strength. Then she turned away from the door. She eyed her brother and the guard as they were engaged in a conversation. She approached the two men.

Trigger's chocolate brown eyes landed on her. "So, how—

"Let's go," she said to him.

His brow crumpled up with confusion. "Are you sure? You don't want to spend more time? Cause this will be your last time seeing him—

"No, I'm sure… Let's go," she told him with a nod of her head.

* * *

'He's gone… There was nothing—There's…'

Her eyes stared at the blurred shapes as they swiftly passed her window. She appeared to be occupied with the travel, but she was more concentrated on the man that she had spied on, close to an hour ago. She recalled the moment of when she bestowed absolution on the Dauntless leader, for his past grievances. It was when she eyed his feet and his hands, as they slept on the floor. It was the moment when she realized that he had reached his 'rock bottom'. Eric became that little boy that was raised in dirt and neglect, again. He became the person that he fought to never become again.

'Cause we all know…'

A mental image, a memory, of the Dauntless Leader Coulter feverishly scrubbing out the corner of her bath tub, appeared. It was a memory that stemmed from the moment when she spied on him, after he had given Lucien a bath for the first time.

'…he is a neat-freak.' Her plumped lips formed a smile.

 _'_ _Nass! I need… I need your help!'_

 _Her eyes landed on the bewildered Dauntless leader as he stood in front of Lucien's changing table. A clean diaper was clamped down, in his right hand. Their son was laying on the top of the guarded table with his legs poised in the air. His tiny, fat fingers were playfully inspecting his toes. A colorful stream of babbling came from his mouth._

 _'_ _Nass! God… Damn it!'_

 _Her eyes landed on the backside that belonged to Eric. He was bent at his waist with his feet pressed on the sidewalk's curb and by the side of his truck. His upper body was submerged in the rear of his vehicle while his lower body was exposed to the outside's conditions. She wasn't able to view his hands' actions, inside of the truck, but she did hear the newly-bought car seat scream out as the ornery leader tried to subdue it._

 _'_ _Nass… Come and get him, please.'_

 _The soft whisper caught her attention. It was so unlike Eric to intentionally speak in a hushed tone. She looked away from the passage that she was reading and away from the paperback novel that she held onto. Her sight landed on the scene that involved the father and son. A few feet away from where she was sitting, both Coulter males were reclining on the chaise lounge. Lucien used his father's torso as a temporary bed. Blue-gray eyes were focused on her. They were filled with mirth and naughtiness. His pink lips held a sly grin._

 _'_ _Nass… Sing for me.'_

 _Her tired and tear-soaked eyes landed on the prone body that was stored next to her. She stayed too long in the guest bedroom. Numbness managed to eat its way into her bottom, her hips and her lower back, as she sat on the carpeted floor, by his side. The bedroom was dark, but she managed to make out his figure, thanks to the hallway's light. His lower body was covered with three layers of bed linen. He said that he was cold. She believed him. She spotted the steady shiver that came from him. She knew that he could've been talking in his sleep. But, she parted her lips and allowed the words to come from her soul._

 _"_ _I'm… I'm lying on the moon_

 _My dear… I'll be there soon_

 _It's a quiet and starry place_

 _Time's we're swallowed up_

 _In space we're here a million miles away_

 _There—_

"Nass… Nassy, hold on, honey. Just…"

A hoarse-sounding wail filled up the cabin of Trigger's truck. It caught her attention and yanked her out of the stream of sub-consciousness.

"Lemme pull up to a safe… Hang on, honey," she heard her brother declared. His voice sounded hurried.

Trembling hands cupped her face and collected palms' worth of tears. She acknowledged the chronic shaking that her body committed as she sobbed. In her moment of grief, her brain unleashed a frantic stream of montages that consisted of the blue-eyes man, whose life was now in Dauntless' version of Purgatory.

"I gotcha…"

Warm, callused hands clasped onto her biceps. With a gentle pull, she fell into an embrace. Her arms weakly wrapped around the waist that belonged to the broad frame.

"…I gotcha, Sis. I gotcha," she heard Trigger murmured.

"They're gonna kill him," she tearfully spoken into his shirt.

"You don't…"

"They're gonna kill…"

"…know that, Nassy."

"…him."

"Luke doesn't know! He doesn't know! He won't have him!" she hysterically cried into her brother's chest. "He—

A heart-thumping sob cut off her words. Her body violently shook against her brother.

"Nassy, he'll have us. And this baby will have us there, too. They'll have us and we will tell them about their dad," promised Trigger. "You don't have to worry about that."

"My baby won't know their father," she whimpered, after a moment which consisted of silent crying and full-body tremors.

" _They will_ , Nassy."

"What I'm going to tell Luke, when he becomes older? People are—

"Fuck what those people will have to say, Nass," grunted Trigger. "Besides, they're not going to say anything, to him. I would shove my fist down their throats, if they even _glance_ at them in the wrong way."

The siblings allowed silence to waft down on the both of them. The occasional whimper and shuddering breath fell from her lips. They remained in their embrace, alongside the street that Trigger had chosen to park his vehicle on.

"Have you told anybody else about the baby?" Trigger asked, breaking apart the moment.

"No," she mewled. She glanced at her brother. "Please don't—

"I wasn't planning on saying anything to anybody. It's not my business to spill." His arms hugged her tighter. "Besides, I won't tell your business, if you won't tell mine," he teased.

"What business?" she whimpered as she eyed the structures that aligned the desolate street.

A Cheshire grin appeared on his handsome face. He briefly glimpsed down the street before he stared down at her. "Roxy and I… _We're expecting_ ," he confessed.

A sense of surprise marked her face. She glanced at her brother. "Wha… What?" she said in a hoarse tone. "She's… _She's pregnant_?" Then, she began to stammer. "H-How many months is she?"

"Ummmm…." His right hand had gone to the back of his head and gave his scalp a good scratch. His face had taken on a mask of confusion. "… They're already here," he confessed.

Surprise had turned into confusion. " _What_?" she whispered. She became a recipient of Trigger's laughter.

"Me and Roxy are _adopting_ ," he clarified.

" _Oh my goodness_!" A smile grew on her face. "You guys are _adopting_?!"

Trigger nodded his head. "You remember the Orland children?"

Nasira's brain conjured up images of the four blond-haired children. She nodded her head. "Yeah… Them?" After Triggr nodded his head, she uttered, "So, how did this come about?"

"Mr. Orland has Alzheimer's and Mrs. Orland can't keep up with everything anymore: the house, the kids and her husband. The old woman decided to place Mr. Orland in one of those assisted-living facilities in Erudite while she is going to live with her sister, who has a place that is on the Dauntless-Erudite border. She plans on selling the house, too," explained Trigger.

She sighed. "That's sad to hear," she softly pronounced. 'But, wait, what about…' She released Trigger's waist. "But, what about y'all place? Don't you two live in a three-bedroom apartment?"

"Yeah," he groaned. "It's going to be tough on all of us… For some time, until we move into our new place, in September."

" _Move into your new place_? So, you already have a new one?"

"Yup," he announced.

"That's great news! Where is it?"

"The soon-to-be, old Orlands' place," he nonchalantly stated as he released her. He silently instructed her to stick her legs back into the truck's cabin. Once she was safely inside, he shut the front passenger's door closed.

'…You're shitting me?' she silently said to herself. She stared out of the truck's windshield and she watched her brother make his way back to the driver's side. As soon as he entered the cabin, she unleashed her inquiries. "How are you able to…? That place is _huge_! How are you—

"We managed to save up a fat, nest egg. Roxy and I always wanted to live in a house, in Dauntless Village. She and I never like living in the city. Too many people. There are too many buildings and so much noise and garbage. So, we started to save as soon as possible." He powered up the engine. "And besides, we both felt that those kids need to complete their childhoods in that house. They don't deserve to be uprooted for a long time. They need some sense of normal, you know?"

Nasira smiled. There was a sense of pride for her kin. She stared out of the passenger window at the passing scenery that consisted of abandoned buildings and empty lots. A memory began to crawl up to the surface. The image of a strutting, pregnant woman danced its way into her consciousness. The wavering smell of a Dauntless Double-Trouble cheeseburger and the scent of ketchup tickled at her sense of smell. Her lips blurted, "Their mother is pregnant again".

"I know," her brother groaned. "I was told, a few months ago... She's due any week now."

She glanced at her brother. "You've been keeping tabs on her?"

"Yeah," he confessed. "But I am only doing it for the kids' sake. Just in case, if they want to know about her."

"Keep Ixa away from her," she warned. "I don't trust that woman and I don't even like her. She seems capable of pimp—

"She _would_ ," he groaned. "And I do plan on keeping that woman away. She won't get near her enough, in order to hurt her."

"So, what about the baby? She might want to give that baby up." Nasira had a strong feeling that the woman was going to relinquish her parental rights without any hesitation. But she was curious about her brother's stance on the matter. "Would you take this child in, as well?"

"Roxy and I _did_ discuss it," he informed her.

"And?"

Trigger remained silent.

'Please say 'yes'… Please say 'yes'…'

The car approached an empty intersection at a traffic light. Her eyes gave her brother's profile a glance. " _And_ , Trigger?"

He gave her a glimpse. "Yeah… But, we agreed that our 'cut-off point' is at five kids. We're not aspiring to be some kind of makeshift orphanage for her kids. Roxy and I made plans on talking to the Orlands' _other_ daughters and come up with some kind of plan, just in case this happens again."

'Ohhh… Thank God!' her brain screamed out. "Why did you have to drag it out? I was sitting over here and sweating bullets."

"Because… I wanted to mess with you a little bit…" He gave her a mischievous smile. "…with _your nosy ass_!" he chuckled.

"Ugh!" she grunted. Her left fist punched his thick right bicep. "You're such a jerk!" she giggled.

" _Hey-hey-hey, I'm driving here_!"he laughed.

She settled into her seat and she peered out of the window again.

"So what happened?" she heard Trigger say after a while.

"With what?"

"The baby? How did you find out that you were pregnant again?" he queried.

" _Oh_ ," she whimpered. She quickly recalled bits and pieces of that day, which made her giggle. She glimpsed at her brother. "I had gone to my gynecologist to have my birth control updated…"

The cabin of the truck was filled with Trigger's laughter.

"…and I had to take a mandatory pregnancy test, in order to get the update, ever since I did engage in sexual activity. My test came back positive, which shocked the hell outta me."

"How-in the-hell did you get pregnant while _on the pill_?!" he chuckled.

"My OB-GYN in Amity—

" _Amity_?! _Ooooh-oh-oh_!"

She gave her brother a mild, scolding stare. "She made a mistake—Actually, _her nurse_ made the mistake, when it came to my birth control. My doctor thought that she had given me another two-year serum, the _Ova-Nine-Nineteen_. Instead, she stuck me with the _Advantage Ovum-Two-Eighteen_. The nurse gave her the wrong birth control to administer."

"What's the difference?" he asked.

"The Advantage Ovum is a birth control serum that lasts four months instead. With both brands, I would... _Menstruate..._ Every other same thing happened to me, when I was taking the Ova-Nine-Nineteen. I wouldn't bleed for one month and then I would for the next month," she clarified. "So, when I... _You know_... the serum had worn off already."

Trigger hissed. "Da-yummm! So, all of this time, your eggs were just ready to be fertilized?" he joked.

"Yeah," she answered, with a frown on her face.

"I think… I think you might want to leave the birth control alone for a little while," he giggled.

"Yeah, well…" She glimpsed at her stomach. "…I have no choice now." She chuckled.

A streak of silence filled the cabin, before Trigger said, "You want a girl or a boy, this time?"

She glanced at her brother. "I want a _healthy baby_ ," was her answer.

"I hear that," he sighed. "But I do want you have a girl, so Mama can get off of my back about having a baby."

"I can pop out triplets and Mama will still bother you and Roxy about giving her a grandbaby," she jested.

Both siblings laughed.

* * *

"We… Are… Here," Trigger declared as his truck lessened its speed as it drove down a familiar street.

It was deep into the evening, when Trigger's truck pulled up in front of Nasira's apartment building. She was gone for over five hours, but it felt as if she was gone for weeks. Her body and her spirit was drained. She was drained of energy and of her strength. Her day consisted of a few meager emotional 'highs' and many devastating emotional 'lows'.

"Yeaaaaaahhhh..." she spoke as she unleashed a hearty yawn from her mouth. Her arms and legs stretched out as far as they could go. Her fingertips poked at the roof of the cabin while her toes jabbed at the floor.

"Tired?" her brother asked her, once she settled down.

Nasira nodded her head. "I doubt that I won't be catching any sleep tonight, though. Between what's happening and my…" Both sets of index and middle fingers formed the 'quote-unquote' pantomime. "… _morning sickness_ , I know that I won't get any sleep. If I'm not worrying about Eric, then I'll be throwing up in my toilet, tonight."

"Nass… You need to sleep, though. It's not healthy. Do you have any Amity tea to get through the night? Or some milk that you can heat up?"

"Yeah, I have both," she informed him.

" _Soooo,_ when you go home, take a long bath and fix yourself some tea before you go to bed. Now, in regards to your 'morning sickness', keep a garbage pail or a bucket by the side of your bed," offered Trigger.

Her eyes focused on the windshield while her sight stared at the scenery that was presented to her. She deeply inhaled through her nose and on the exhale, she released, "Do you think there's a chance that Eric can get off with a light sentence?" The inquiry was practically residing in her mind, ever since her visit to Warden Clarke's office-suite. It stayed with her during their voyage to her apartment building. Being around Trigger for the past five hours made her grow to value his possible opinion on the matter.

When the silence managed to sail past the minute-mark, Nasira glanced at her brother's regal-looking profile. He sat in the driver's seat with his heavy-eyed glare focused on the windshield. 'Did he hear—

"The only way that I could see Eric…"

Her cheeks blushed as she acknowledged the fact that her brother called her son's father by his first name.

"…getting off with a light sentence is if the other leaders could convince Max that he isn't some serial killer-in the-making. That… The _incident_ was a mistake on his behalf. He didn't intentionally mean to harm that kid. But, when I really think about it… There's no possible 'slap on the wrist' for Eric. Even with the 'lightest sentence', it's going to ruin some part of his life. If he won't be…" His left set of knuckles rhythmically tapped against the bottom curve of the steering wheel, the only physical 'tell' that displayed his sense of unsettlement. "…executed… By The Redeemer, then he could face banishment from the faction…"

' _Ohhh…Shit_ ,' her brain cried. She realized that Trigger was right: being executed wasn't the _only_ worst thing that could to happen to Eric.

"…He could also have his title and the responsibility as a faction leader stripped from him. Like I said…" He angled his face, so he could stare at her. "…there's no such thing as a 'light punishment' for him."

'He's right, you know.' A frown crossed her face and showcased her level of uneasiness. "Do you think that the leaders will try to convince Max that his life needs to be spared? I… I believe that Unc will try. But do you think that the other leaders will try to help him?"

"As for the _other leaders_? I have no clue," he truthfully stated. Trigger sighed. "Hopefully, Eric will accept the right to counsel and ask for a trial, so he could prove his innocence." He shrugged his shoulders. "At least with a trial, a few months are needed, in order for him to have a fair shake."

"Yeah…" she sighed, "…you're right".

* * *

Her apartment held a solemn energy. It was one of the first factors that she noticed, when she stepped foot into her home. She concluded that it was due to the silence that rang throughout the apartment. There weren't any sounds of boisterous laughter. The usual waves of happy-infused and loud music weren't spraying the walls and the ceiling. The living room and the kitchenette were deprived of the sounds of Sophie's voice and the pitter-patter of Lucien's fat feet against the floorboards.

After closing the front door, she made her way to the kitchen to empty out her newly-acquired commemorative, thermal cup. She also proceeded to make herself dinner, in the form of tomato soup. As she prepared a pocket soup in the microwave, her eyes scanned the kitchen's features. They came to a stop, when she spotted a paper that was taped to the refrigerator's door. From her vantage point, she saw the contents that were on the note and she recognized the refined-yet-big, loopy cursive writing.

 _"_ _Call me. I have Bunchie. I've sent Sophie home. I have enough of my baby's things at my place, so don't worry. Love, your mama."_

Nasira read each word off of the page, mumbling each act of enunciation. 'Well… let's see what she wants.' She turned away from the refrigerator and she turned to the counter space that was in between the microwave and the sink. She picked up the landline phone from off of the charger and proceeded to dial her mother's telephone number. She listened to the streams of ringing, for a few seconds, before there was a soft 'click' sound. "Hello… Mommy?"

Her mother's familiar sigh spilled from the phone's receiver. "Hey, baby. How you're doing?"

The compassion that was deeply etched in her mother's voice caused a dull throb to form in her chest. "I'm fine," she gently stated.

"Bullshit," her mother quipped. "I can feel your sadness coming from this phone." There was a joyless chuckle. "You're my baby. I can feel your pain."

"I'm…" She sighed. "I don't know what I am, right now," she confessed. "I feel… So many emotions. I feel angry. I'm mad at Eric for fuc—For messing things up. I'm mad at myself for being _so-damn-willing_ to help him and be there for him. But there are times when I feel sad and scared that he's going to die. I'm just…" She huffed. "Ugh!"

"I understand, sweetheart," her mother informed her.

"Then there's this feeling, where I feel like this world could go to shit and I won't care," she confessed.

"Hmph!" she heard her mother hummed. "I understand the feeling. I felt that way, when your grandmother and then when your father died. I was devastated, of course, but I was just so… _angry_ , during those times that I wanted everybody to feel the same pain that I felt."

'That… Sounds about right.'

"So, I understand, baby. I understand," she informed the woman. After a swell of non-communication, she queried, "Did you see Eric today?"

The memory of the imprisoned, Dauntless leader popped up in her mind. The memory of her emotional breakdown inside of Trigger's vehicle, followed. "Yes," she meekly answered. "Mommy…" Her lower back pressed into the counter's edge as she stared at the windows, from across the room. "…he _looked so bad_. He wasn't himself. He was sick and he looked weak. I was taken to his cell and I saw through this… little window that was in his door… He was laying on the floor and he was covered in vomit and that boy's blood."

A slow, horrified gasp came from the matriarch. "What… What was he doing?"

"He was sleeping. Well, he was _trying_ to have a peaceful sleep. He was in pain. It was obvious. The prison guard that took us to his cell, told me and Trig that Eric was going through withdrawal—

" _Withdrawal?!_ From _what_?!"

"He was… He was on Wept—

" _Wept?!"_ her mother sharply gasped.

In the background, from her mother's end, there was a streak of muffled babbling.

"I'm sorry, baby," her mother apologized to the toddler. "I'm sorry, Bunchie," she told the toddler. Then there was a " _What do you mean he is on Wept_?!" The older Grant mother harshly whispered her inquiry into the phone.

"When he was registered in Truman, he was given a drug test. There were three strains of Wept in his system. I think he was high off of it, when he… _Attacked_ that boy," explained Nasira.

" _Oh God_ ," Mrs. Grant groaned. She sighed. "What-the-hell was he thinking?! Wept?! _Wept?!_ Like... R _eally, Eric!_ My… _God_! I can't believe him! He—Your father is probably rolling over in his grave and is probably cussing his ass out from wherever he is! I remember when your father _told him_ about the dangers of the drugs that are floating around here! Are you on that stuff?! _Have you been taking that stuff, too_?!"

' _WHAT?!'_ Her eyes widened. " _What_?! ...Ma! _No_! I didn't _even know what it was,_ until last month! I didn't even know what it could do until Len and Nadir had told me about it! I haven't—

" _Good_! Cause if I ever find out that you've trying that _stuff_ , _I will beat fire out of your ass_!" her mother warned her.

'Say, wha…' Suddenly, a stream of high-pitched giggles came from her mouth.

" _Nassy_!"

"I'm sorry, Mama," she giggled. "I'm sorry… It's just that… When you said that… I'm sorry."

"It's not funny, Nassy."

"I know, Ma. I know," she giggled.

Mrs. Grant kissed her teeth. "So… Do you know if he has taken the Legal League's offer?"

"A lawyer and a judge came to the prison today, but Eric was too sick to speak to them," she told her mother. "More than likely, he'll come back tomorrow."

"He has to. In fact, he has to show up _every day_ until Eric gives his answer."

"What happens if a trial does take place?" she asked her mother as she strolled over to the sink.

"Well, then the trial will take place in Dauntless, ever since it occurred in here. But the leaders will invite a Candor judge to mediate over the proceedings and Eric will be represented by a lawyer from Candor. The leaders will hear Eric's account and they will go over the evidence and the witnesses' testimonies, as well. A typical trial lasts for over a week and it never lasts over two months."

Nasira dumped her can of tomato soap into a plastic bowl. "What happens if he wants to waive his right to counsel and he—

"If he wants judgement?" her mother interjected. "Well, it means that Max and the other leaders will meet up in an undisclosed location and deliberate for… About a day…"

 _'A day?!_ A day. Just one fucking day! Someone's life is at stake and they are going to think about it _for a day_?!' She groaned underneath her breath.

"…They won't think about this for more than day, ever since they're leaders... _Usually_...They have other responsibilities to take care of. Once Max reaches his decision, the judgement will be carried out on the next day," her mother reported.

"What do you think will happen to Eric, Ma?"

Nasira was met with silence. She knew the message that lain hidden behind the moment of quietness. She felt pressure build up inside of her throat.

"You have, at least, _one_ day," Mrs. Grant's trembling voice told her.

"One day?" she whispered. "'One day' _to do what_?" she inquired as she proceeded to travel to the living room with her meal.

"You have one day, Nassy, to convince your godfather to spare that boy's life," her mother informed her.

'Wha- _What_?!' She sat down on the sofa portion of the sectional. 'Wha..? How am I supposed to do that?! Like Max would even…' "How am I supposed to convince Max this?! I can't just… _Go to his office_ and just simply ask him to don't kill Eric! How—

"You can, Nassy! You can convince him."

" _How, mama_?! How can I convince him to spare his life?! I-I…" She had fallen silent. The gravity that was behind the possibility of convincing Max to stave off Eric's death, struck her.

"All you have to do, sweetheart, is convince him that Eric is a viable asset to this faction. You have to convince him that Eric's loss will be felt throughout the faction," the older woman suggested. "You have to keep in mind that Max is _by the book_ , when it comes to his role as leader. He is capable of putting a bullet in his own mother's head, if he felt that she was a threat towards the faction. He is able to put his emotions to the side and act like a leader. This is why he is such a good leader."

A chill clung to her skin. The notion that Max was capable of killing his protégée of nine years without any taste of reservation, alarmed her.

"Max is going to be in his office tomorrow. You need to go there and have a talk with him," suggested Mrs. Grant.

"Mom… Tomorrow's Sunday."

"I know, but I also know that Max is going to be there. He goes to his office and tie up any loose strings that he wasn't able to get to, during the previous week," her mother informed her. "He's only there for a few hours. _Three_ , at most. He'll want to spend time with Jayla and the boys. So, you need to go there as early as possible."

"How do _you_ know this?" she asked her mother.

"From being his temporary secretary, _decades ago_ , when his secretary was out on maternity leave. I did it for him as a favor. During that time, I noticed his habits… So, you'll have tomorrow to convince him to change his mind."

"And if I do…?"

"Then, chances are, Eric will spend a few years in The Land. Or… he will have his title taken away from him. Or, both of those things," remarked Mrs. Grant.

'Either way, Eric will definitely wish for death.' She blew into her soup before she took a sip. "How am I going to convince Max?"

"I don't know, to be quite honest. But I have faith in you because you're a delightful orator. You'll figure something out."

"Thanks, Ma."

"You're welcome, baby."

Both mother and daughter had fallen into a comfortable form of silence. During this time, Nasira proceeded to eat her soup. Her stomach was appreciative and hateful towards the concept. She was starving, but with an empty belly, the feeling of food inside felt unnerving. As she ate her meal, she listened to the conversation that Mrs. Grant held with Lucien.

"Would you like to speak to your baby before I get off of this phone?" Mrs. Grant stated, severing the peaceful moment.

"Mmm-hmm," she eagerly hummed as she relished the last bit of tomato soup.

"Alright, hold on." The sounds of muffling filled the phone's receiver and then there was a soft "Bunchie… Bunchie. Come here, my baby!" As the seconds ticked by, clear voices came through the phone line. "Come here Bunchie! Your mama wants to talk to you! Yeah… Your mama wants to talk to you!"

Consistent and clear babble reached the phone's receiver. "…Mama-Gee… Gee-Gee! Mama! Gee…"

"Yes baby, there you go. Here's the phone!" she heard her mother say.

"Mama?" Nasira heard seconds later.

She was given a sliver of joy.

The greeting was clear and loud, into the phone and in Nasira's ear. "Mama…" He resumed with his boisterous babbling with its rapid pace. His mother listened to the boy speak for a few seconds and then she added in her verbal input with their conversation.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Nasira ordered, "Lukie-Bear, give your Gee-Gee the phone".

"Nah…Oooh," the boy gleefully sung into the phone.

The mother giggled. "Yea-yeahhh!"

"Nah-Oooh," he chirped before giggling.

"Yeah… Lukie."

"Nah-Oooh!"

" _Boy!"_

Her ear was flooded with his laughter.

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BRRINNNGGGG!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BRRINNGGGG!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _BAH…"_**

Her right hand slipped from underneath the layers of blankets and reached across the edge of the mattress, over to the nightstand. Her fingers sought after the cell phone that she knew was resting on the nightstand's surface. Once her fingertips touched the hard plastic, she plucked up the phone. She connected the call. "Hello?" she croaked in the phone's mouthpiece.

"Nass…This is your uncle, honey."

'Xerxes…' A montage of images popped up into her mind. She swiftly sat upright in her bed. Then she reached over again, but to touch the hard plastic switch that was attached to the lamp. "Yes…" Her fingertips flicked the switch and powered on the lamp. The bedroom was swiftly filled with the typical soft, orange light. "…I'm here."

Seconds ticked by, before there was another word from the Dauntless leader of Defense. "Nassy…" he deeply sighed. "I'm calling you to let you know that…" He paused for a few more seconds.

'What is it?' her brain whimpered. 'What-what-what is it?'

"Fix…"

'Please-please-please. Please don't say what I think—

"…honey, he passed away…"

'NO! No-no-no-no-no…'

"…The doctors tried the best that they could, when it came to saving him. But it didn't work…"

'…no-no-no! Please! Please, God, please! Please!'

"…His 'time of death' was one-oh-eight. He, uh, struggled to stay… Alive. His health declined and the doctors tried to resuscitate him, but we're unable to," her uncle reported.

'Please… Please let this be a dream! Please, God, please…'

"The other leaders and myself are going to meet up later on… Today. We… We have to deliberate," he reported.

'…please. Puh—Wait…' The words spilled from her mouth. "W-Wait. Deliberate? What do you mean _by 'deliberate'_?"

Xerxes sighed again. "Tomorrow, we have to meet up to discuss Eric's punishment. We will meet up in an undisclosed location and we will discuss."

"B-But…" she sighed. "But-But, what about Eric's right to counsel? I th-thought he had to pick."

"He did. He was conscious, last night. According to the Legal League, they sent a rep to the prison right away and he managed to speak to Eric. He said that Eric told him that he wanted to be judge by his peers."

An obscene amount of pressure was implanted in her chest. It formed a deep and sharp ache, which caused her eyes to water.

"D-D-D-Did he tell the guy why he wanted the judgement?" she whimpered.

"No. The lawyers don't ask for reasons. Just a 'yes' or a 'no' is all they want," Xerxes explained.

Nasira softly shook her head. "No. No… No…" Her voice splintered apart and formed soft cries.

"Honey…I'm gonna try my damnedest to make sure that Eric won't be place in The Oculus. But… It's up to Max. It's his decision. But, I'mma try. I'm gonna try for you and for the kids," he promised.

She nodded her head. "Yes," she mewled into the phone.

"I'm going to try, sweetie… I am," promised Xerxes.

"Yeah," she whimpered in between a pair of soft cries.

"Okay. Um…" He coughed. "I just wanted to tell you the news. I have to get off the phone. I have to get ready for this, so I need some sleep…"

"Yeah," she said, weakly.

"…I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you… Too," she murmured.

The call was disconnected with a subtle twitch of her left thumb. Her phone-carrying appendage fell to her lap. She felt her fingertips become numb. The odd sensation crept into her fingers and then into her palm. Despite it's case of numbness, she brought her hand to her face. With the silence and solitude surrounding her, she openly wept into her palm.

'They're going to kill him…They're going to kill him…kill him…' she silently cried out.

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BEEP-BEEP!"_**

Her hand lifted away from her face. It was her cell phone. Her right hand picked up the phone and she peered down at her phone's screen. _'_ _Mommy. 1 New Text Message.'_ Her numbed fingertips opened the application. She read the message.

 _'_ _Just received the news. U have 1 day. 2-morrow. They R meeting 2-morrow. U gotta see Max.'_

She mindlessly placed the cell phone in the unoccupied space that was beside her, on the bed. A millisecond later, her hearing picked up the familiar sound of paper rustling. Eyes glimpsed over, in the direction of where her phone was chucked. The sight of several sheets of blanked paper and a ballpoint pen greeted her.

'Just one day. That's all we have… Figure out what you want to say… Write…'

"I only have just one," she mumbled as she eyed the paper and the pen.

Nasira reached over for the paper and she politely filed them together before she set them down on her shrouded lap. The pen soon followed.

'…I have just today to get this right.'


	3. Chapter Two: Falling Out of Love

**Author's Notes:** *waves to the readers*

Yeah... I've updated again. Two times in one day. That's a first for me. Hopefully, I can post another one tomorrow.

 **RATING:** Rated 'M' for 'Mature'. **NSFW.** Strong adult language. Strong adult content.

 **WARNING:** This story is A/U and Non-Canon. In this story, there aren't mentions of divergents, the Abnegation massacre, the war and other incidents from the "Divergent Series".

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything from The Divergent Series. The only people that I own are the OCs.

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Falling Out of Love**

 _"First best is falling in love. Second best is being in love. Least best is falling out of love. But any of it is better than never having been in love."  
― Maya Angelou _

* * *

Jittery hands held onto the sheets of paper while exerted eyes focused on the checkered handwriting that was on the paper. Plump lips recited the etched words. Occasionally, her lips stumbled and stammered, but she persevered. "…the crop of initiates passed were in effect…" The process of her recitation was disrupted, when her hearing picked up the sounds of footsteps, as they approached her jeep. She looked away from her speech and looked out of her windshield. She spotted a pair of men strolling alongside the vehicle, on the sidewalk. The men were engaged in a private conversation as they walked and they did not notice Nasira's gazing. She continued to stare at them until they became floating, black dots in her rear view mirror. Her eyes' sight drifted off of the mirror and landed on the jeep's dashboard clock. She read the time as being '8:54AM'.

"Whew!" her lips huffed. The back of Nasira's head collided with the driver seat's headrest. Her stinging eyes focused on the scenery that was outside of the windows. Her body soon began to settle down and relax in the smooth leather seat. She was tired. Ever since her phone conversation with her uncle, she has been awake. It felt like a million's worth of thoughts had gone through her mind since she disconnected that call.

Then, there was the phone's text message from her mother. It gave her the motivation to start her writing project. Her tired eyes and trembling fingers proceeded to follow the orders that came from her emotionally-frazzled yet energetic mind. As she wrote, her mother's suggestions stayed in the foreground of her conscious. She kept references about Eric's personal life from out of the passages. Whenever she would slip up, she would take her pen and cross out the statements. Four hours passed before she came to a stop.

After deciding to call it quits with the writing, Nasira was still energized from the abundance of adrenaline that was running through her. Her skin buzzed while her heart raced and her stomach churned. There were fringes of anxiousness that intermittently lashed at her spirit. The anxiety was the culprit that forced her to leave the comfort space that was her bed and prepare for the day. As she showered, she had gone through an itinerary for her visit to The Mind. She had chosen to dress in clothes that were more business-appropriate than her typical casual clothes. She figured that her ruffled blouse, dress slacks and stiletto heels wouldn't cause her to stand out, according to the staff that worked in the building. After giving her backpack a thorough inventory inspection, she gathered up her desired belongings and left her home. Once she arrived to The Cook County Plaza, home for The Mind, The Training Facility and the Defense Department, she had chosen to lounge in her parked jeep and go over her speech.

'Come on, Nass. Come on… Now,' her conscience urged her. On the exhalation, she opened her eyes. She lifted her head away from the seat and then she gathered the papers from off of her lap. She neatly folded the speech and she stored it inside of her backpack. A full-body shudder erupted from her just as a hearty yawn came pouring out of her mouth. Her limbs stretched out and trembled as they chased away the fatigue. She gave the street another glance before she grabbed her backpack off of the passenger's seat and exited the vehicle. She was welcomed to the outside by a brisk wind that chilled her satin-covered arms. She chased away a shiver that ran down her back. Her sight scanned both ends of the neighborhood before she removed herself from her jeep's vicinity. She slipped her backpack on and began to travel to the plaza.

Seventeen minutes later, Nasira arrived to The Mind's main entrance. 'Be cool. Act like you're supposed to be here,' her conscience encouraged her as she passed through the sliding doors' threshold. She was immediately wrapped up in a thick blanket of warm air, which swiftly warmed up her chilled skin. She appreciated the warmth.

She entered the spacious, main lobby and was struck by the very desolate environment. With the exception of the eight armed security guards, the lobby was empty. There weren't any signs of activity coming from the elevators, from the corridors or from the stairwells. It felt unusual being immersed in such emptiness. Even her footsteps reminded her of the emptiness as they echoed as she strolled up to the checkpoint station.

Nasira gazed at the three guards who commandeered the checkpoint station. One officer was handling the X-Ray scanner while he was engaged in a conversation with a guard, who was idle. The other two officers manned the free-standing, metal detector. All eyes were focused on her.

"Good morning, all," she pleasantly greeted, when she was within ear-range.

"Good morning," all three officers replied. The sounds bounced off of the walls that made up the cavernous lobby and formed echoes.

All five Dauntless members scoped out the lobby and then each other before they erupted in casual chuckles.

"Okay, ma'am. Please put your backpack on the conveyor belt," the scanner's operator instructed, chuckling.

"Okay," she softly uttered. She stripped her back of the leather bag and she placed it on the conveyor belt.

"Ma'am…" the guard that stood by the metal detector wordlessly instructed her to enter, by using his hand.

Nasira followed his instruction. She strolled into the metal detector and she passed through without any complications. She was instructed to take her belongings from off of the conveyor belt. She grabbed her bag and gave the men a polite farewell before she made her way to the elevator bank. Her shoe-clad feet left more echoes in their wake as she made her way to the short hall of elevators. Once there, her manicured nails pressed a button on the metal plated console, which requested for an elevator. She casually strolled into the center of the bank and was showered with anxiety. Her teary eyes scanned the empty hall with a frenetic pace.

'Please Max. Please… Just listen to what I have to say… Please...' she silently pled.

 ** _"_** ** _PING! GROUND… FLOOR!"_**

She performed a quick surveillance of each elevator's meter and discovered the responsible party. A ball of pressure managed to bury its way into her stomach, causing her abdominals to tighten up. She released a trembling sigh and strolled up to the obeying elevator. She stepped onto the elevator's carriage as soon as she was able to slip her body inside, pass the sliding doors. Her left set of fingers pressed for silver button that was marked with the number '8'.

' _Please-please-please_ Max…'

Once she was in seclusion, she began to exhibit signs of anxiousness. She hummed. Her fingertips rhythmically tapped against the outer curves that were a part of her thighs. She fidgeted as stood in the center of the carriage. Her brain kept releasing silent pleas to the Alpha Regent of the Dauntless faction.

 ** _"_** ** _PING! EIGHTH…FLOOR!"_** The feminine, electronic voice system sung into the carriage. There was a smooth halt in the movement and the doors slid open, a few seconds later. The elevator bank was soon put on display.

"Oh-oooh…" her lips groan as her stomach erupted in a case of queasiness. She knew that she couldn't blame her pregnancy on this case.

Her eyes wearily stared into the short foyer as her feet led her off of the elevator. 'Okay… Now find Max,' ordered her conscience. She made her way to the front desk area, where the main directory operator would sit. She half-way expected to see a receptionist sitting there. She was quickly reminded of the fact that it was a Sunday morning. She veered away from the front desk and entered the corridor that was adjacent from the circular desk. The corridor only led to one office, Max's office-suite. As she was drawn closer to the office, her anxiety's grip became stronger. 'Okayokayokayokayokayokayokay…' She strolled down the stone-aligned hallway to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that showcased the waiting room. By the time she reached the entrance to his suite's waiting area, she felt like she was going to vomit, faint or even run away.

Instead, she had chosen to enter the waiting room area.

"Okay…Okay…Okay…Okay… You gotta do this," she whispered to herself. Her eyes landed on the pair of closed doors that were several feet across from her stance. "You gotta do this," she told herself. She made the initiate step. Then, she committed to a few more steps, which led to another series of steps. Soon, she found herself standing in front of the pair of doors that guarded the faction leader's office.

Her trembling, left fist rose to the door and lingered. 'You can…' Three knocks were formed against the door. She placed her hand by her side and listened out for noises that would come from the other side of the door. She was gifted with a streak of silence. Her left fist rose and knocked once more. A few seconds later, there were muffled sounds that could only be associated with the act of movement that occurred from the other side. It began as soft patter and rose to the sounds of footsteps as the seconds passed. The sounds of the door knob turning filled her ears. 'Okay. O—

The door was pulled several inches away from the frame before the space was filled with a familiar person.

Nasira's dark brown orbs took in the Dauntless leader that stood before her. Her sight caught the very brief expression of surprise that marked his face. His eyes widened in length as his brain informed him of her presence. His lips slightly parted.

Then just as quick the expression had appeared, it disappeared. A look of acknowledgement grew on his face. A lukewarm smile marked his lips. His head performed a few half-hearted nods while a light exploded in his eyes. He sighed and his head stopped moving. "Good morning, Miss Grant," remarked Max, seconds later.

"Good morning, Dauntless Leader Wright," she greeted him. Her voice held onto a masquerade that gave off the impression that she was in control of herself. It was further than the truth.

"I know why you're here…" the alpha regent of the Dauntless leaders, informed her. He pulled away from the doorframe and he took a few steps into his right side. "…and I should've…" He pushed the door open. "…known that you would come here." His left hand performed a powerless swing into this office. "Please… Come inside," he offered.

'Okay, this is it, Nass,' her logical side announced. 'This is your time.'

She gifted the leader with a tight-lipped, weak smile before she made the initiated step into the threshold. Eyes peered at the spacious office that was in front of her and she scanned the features. She took note that his office depicted her godfather as a man that didn't have the time to clean and organize. After all, he was the leader that held onto the largest portion of the responsibilities.

"Please excuse the messiness. I don't have the time to clean in here. Plus, I don't…" Max walked past Nasira to further enter his office. "…trust people in my office, when I am not here." The leader approached the back of his desk and stood there.

"It's… It's alright," she muttered as she walked across the carpeted floor.

Max approached his desk and stood in the gap that was in between his rolling chair and the desk's edge. He glanced at his computer's monitor and then at Nasira. "I have to be somewhere in twenty minutes," he notified her.

She knew the underlying message that was in the statement. She had twenty minutes to state her case. She had twenty minutes to try to convince Max that Eric didn't deserve death for his crime. She believed that he didn't deserve such a horrible fate. She also believed that her children shouldn't endure the after-effects that would've come from his death. So, she had one-thousand and two-hundred seconds to keep Eric alive.

"Th-Thank you Max—I mean, Dauntless Leader Wright—for allowing me to come here and state my p-p-purpose for this visit. I…" She turned her attention to her knapsack which was hanging off of her right shoulder. "…came here to…" She peeled the strap off of her shoulder and held it in front of her. "…speak to you…" Her right set of fingers unzipped the largest pocket's clasp. "…about Eric." Her fingers delved pass the slit that was left and searched for the folded papers. "I…" She glimpsed at Max. "…feel that…" Her voice trailed off. Her fingertips brushed up against a smooth, cold paper surface. 'Got it.' She rapidly grasped the speech and yanked it out. She glimpsed at Max, again. "I don't… I don't think he should be…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't say the word. It made her uncomfortable. It conjured up the fear.

Max stood several feet in front of her, with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his right thumb and index fingers lightly pinching at his chin. He held the posture of a military leader. He wore his authority like it was a coat. His stance was ramrod with his shoulders straight and his eyes displaying a soul-piercing gaze. The gazing caused his goddaughter's skin to shiver. He kept the staring going on as he stated, "Why should I grant Eric mercy?"

"I'm-I'm not asking you to give him a slap-on the-wrist, sir. I—

"Trust me, anything other than an execution is a ' _slap-on the-wrist'_ , Nasira."

Her stomach grotesquely churned after hearing that statement.

"Tell me… Why shouldn't Eric be executed for murdering Fix Humphries?"

Confusion and irritation soon formed inside of her. She wasn't able to decipher Max's feelings, from his voice. He sounded as if he was a parent in the process of scolding a child. Yet, he didn't sound angry. His tone contained fringes of sarcasm, but she didn't sense a twinge of discord from the leader. Her lack of being able to pinpoint his emotions, irritated her.

"I… Don't think that you—

She turned away from her faction's leader-in-charge and she glanced at the folded paper. 'Now… Give him the speech,' urged her conscience. Her right set of fingers helped her slip the backpack's leather strap onto her right shoulder. The bag swung behind her and butted up against her right set of ribs. Once she realized it was secure, Nasira turned her focus to the folded sheets of paper and proceeded to read her speech.

"I've come here to-today…" Her eyes glimpsed at Max and then returned to reading. "…humbled and apolo…apologetic for taking any…Any of your time while I—

"No…"

The word caused Nasira to stop reading off of the first page of her speech. 'What?' The sense of surprise rapidly altered into her fear, once she recognized the severity that lain behind that word. She peeled her gaze off of the paper and she focused on the face that belonged to the faction leader. "Wha-What did you say, sir?"

"I said…No," he nonchalantly confirmed. He was staring at the monitor again, at the screen. "I want you…" Max's fingers tapped several times against the keyboard. He glanced at her. "To tell me why I shouldn't put in the order of execution for Dauntless Leader Coulter," he ordered. He shook his head. "I don't want to hear any speeches or any scientific studies…" His left index finger pointed at her. "…I want to hear _your opinion_." He stepped away from his computer and looked towards his chair. His right hand grabbed the jacket that was hanging from the back.

 _'_ _He is by the book… 'Faction before blood'…He is able to separate his emotions from his role as leader…'_ Her mother's words replayed inside of her skull as she numbly stared at Dauntless' alpha regent. Nasira couldn't make sense of Max's motive. She felt that his order was a 'trick question', a test to weigh her moral character. Her heart felt like it banged against her chest. Nervously, she muttered, "I think that…"

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed as his head gave out soft nods.

"…he's made a mistake and—

" _A mistake?_ " chuckled Max, in a snarky manner. "That's a nice way of putting it."

Her lips parted, so she could speak. But her sense of embarrassment snatched up her courage and her voice. She glanced at the carpet.

"Miss Grant, you're here to fight for your boyfriend's life…"

Shock filled her spirit. 'Boy…' Nasira's wide eyes quickly peered at the man, who was standing several feet in front of her. '…friend?' Her cheeks burned from the combination of shock and embarrassment.

"…and you're here to make sure that your son will have a father, by the end of next week. This is not the time for your shyness and insecurity to get the best of you," Max told her. "So, let's try this again… Why do you feel Dauntless Leader Coulter shouldn't receive the punishment of death? Why should he receive exemption from this penalty, when there were countless men and women, who weren't given this same treatment? Why shouldn't his blood be spilled, even though he didn't even give Fix this same kind of consideration?"

'…I…I….I-I-I-I…'

Max's barrage of inquiries left the mother absolute stunned. Each statement left the woman without an answer. Each inquiry held a message that exposed the brevity of this situation. They also made Nasira unwillingly reveal to herself the level of selfishness that she possessed.

'….A boy died…And here I am—

"So… Tell me, Miss Grant… Why should I do it? Why should I keep Dauntless Leader Coulter from off of the chopping block? Tell me," asked the Dauntless alpha regent leader.

'I-I-I-I—

"I don't know," she whimpered, confessing. She shook her head.

"No, I know you have a reason," Max pointed out. He proceeded to slip into his jacket. "I think you have one…" He straightened out each of the lapels with his hands. "There's a reason why you got out of your bed this morning and you came all-the-way here, in order to speak to me." He glanced at the front of his jacket before he returned his gaze at Nasira. "Where's _that_ reason?"

'I—

"Can't tell you my reasons," she blurted out in a whisper.

"Yes…" Max stepped out of the space that was in between his chair and the desk. His feet carried him to the right side of his desk, in a casual stroll. He kept his steady gaze on her as he walked. "… _you can_ , Miss Grant…" He walked to the front of his large desk. "…I want to hear _them_. I am only interested in hearing about them." Max came to a halt in his journey when he reached the center of his desk. He sat on the edge of the desktop. His arms folded over his chest.

Nasira shook her head. "They are personal an—

" _And?_ " the leader sarcastically stated. "I still want to hear them anyway."

'No, he can't know. Faction over blood. My needs don't matter. Convince him to save Eric.'

Her lips parted and she allowed a short exhale to rush past her lips before she shut them, closing off any possible attempt at speaking. Reservation had taken over and caused her to 'second guess' Max's order. Her dark brown orbs peered away from his prying eyes and she chose to stare at the contents that was behind him. In regards to the alpha leader, she gently shook her head. "It… They don't matter," she confessed, with a neutral inflection to her raspy voice. "Faction before blood." Her eyes focused on the backs that belonged to the family of picture frames, which were on his desk. "My needs and my children's needs don't come before the faction's. If you believe that Eric is a menace and should be…" She paused. The word that was formed inside of her mind and was about to be spewed from her plump lips, caused a knot to build inside of her throat. "That he should be… _Executed_ , then you have made the right choice. So… It really doesn't matter."

Silence had fallen upon them and it has brought along a thick sense of emotional tense with it. The office-suite was filled with the negative energy and it caused the atmosphere to feel colder and lonelier for the expecting mom.

"Alright then…" groaned the leader, disrupting the silence. Max slipped from the edge of the desk and stood on his two feet. His hands took a lapel. "…let's hear that speech of yours," he commanded as he straightened his blazer's lapels.

Nasira's eyes unintentionally closed just as the soothing sensation that was her relief, came crashing down on her. There was a deep shiver and it caused her skin to continuously buzz. She opened her eyes and peered down at her right hand, which still held onto her speech. The plea that was supposed to convince Max to spare her children's father's life. Fingers unfolded the paper and soon held onto them. She peered down at the long, block of words that were written during the early hours, as she was fueled by fear and frantic determination. Her lips parted. "Good morning… I come to stand before you, today… Both humbled and appreciative. Not too many people are lucky enough to stand before you, Dauntless Leader Wright and are able to state their causes…" Her eyes performed a glimpsed at the leader. He remained rooted in his spot with his attention placed on her. Feeling satisfied yet cautious, she peered down at the paper again and resumed reading her speech to him. "Today, I have to come to you in a state of desperation and hungry for mercy. Not for myself. For… For _other people_ : I've come in hopes of convincing you to spare the life of Dauntless Leader Eric Lucien Coulter… And I've come here for the lives of…" She glanced at Max, once more. 'Well… Here it goes.' She focused on the paper's contents and resumed reciting her speech. "The Dauntless citizens, which includes my son Eric Lucien Coulter, Junior and for the unborn child that I am currently carrying…" She paused for a second. "I've come here to try to attempt to… To convince you that Dauntless Leader Coulter is not a menace or a monster or a mad dog that is capable of murdering due to some sort of bloodlust. He is a man. A man that has flaws. One of those flaws being his drug addiction; his dependency for the drug that is called 'Wept'. I am aware that I am asking you to… Ignore your instincts, which just happens to disregard the judicial traditions that we have here, at Dauntless. I understand that for a man to unrighteous take another 's life, he must face the consequences, which is to have his life taken. But, Dauntless Leader Coulter did not take…"

Nasira continued with her recitation of the speech, which she had written up. Occasionally, her eyes would lift away from the paper and glimpse at Max. She wanted to make sure that the leader was playing the role of captured audience member. She wanted to make sure that this wasn't for naught.

"Alright, Miss Grant," the alpha regent leader announced, after several minutes passed.

Nasira abruptly came to a halt with her reading and she stared at the man, who stood before her. Her eyes took in his form and grew wide with alarm. 'No… No-no-no-no-no-no-no… No!' She watched Max continue to lock up his desk's drawers.

"…I have to go… And handle some business," Max announced.

'NO! STOP HIM!' her conscience screamed at her. Her lips trembled as stammering words fell past them. "B-But-But… M-My-My spee-spee-spee-spee…Ech! I have to fin-finished my—

Max glanced at her. "You can finish the rest as we ride down in the elevator," he suggested.

'No-No-No… He won't pay attention… He's not going to—Make him listen!'

Her eyes continued to stare at her faction's leader, all the while, standing helplessly in the same spot. After watching Max manually shut down his computer and straighten his blazer once more, he approached her.

Once in close proximity, Max stated a "Let's go, Miss Grant" into her direction, before he walked away.

She remained in her stance and listened to a short melody of his footsteps, before she accepted the fact that she couldn't play the role of spectator anymore. With reluctance in her steps, she followed the faction leader as made his exit from out of his office. Once in the waiting room's area, she walked at a snail's pace. He allowed her to enter the wing's corridor first. She walked in the corridor, not waiting for the leader. She knew that he was office-suite a final perusal. She wasn't halfway near the midway point in the corridor, when he joined her side.

"Come on," he ordered before putting more speed into his walking.

Her gaze landed on his broad back as he strolled further away. He reached the hallway's exit in no time. He tossed her glare from over his left shoulder. 'Hurry up,' her conscience alerted her. She proceeded to speed up her pace, as if a switch that controlled her, was powered on. Quick steps and she soon caught up with the man that was her godfather. As they walked to the elevator, Max kept silent and kept his stare straight ahead. His aura gave off an energy that told her that he held tension in him.

Once in the elevator bank, the duo of Dauntless figures didn't have to wait for long. As soon as Max's thumb left its imprint on the service button, the small chamber was filled with the elevator's smooth electronic voice. To Nasira, it felt as if fate was not on her side. 'Everything is not going… _Right._ I'm going to…' Max allowed her to enter the carriage before he stepped inside. Her morose-laden eyes stared at the leader and she wished that she could read his mind. She wanted to know if he actually listened to her speech. Did he empathize with her plight? Would he take her words and feelings into consideration?

"You can finish reading your speech, now," Max instructed as the elevator's doors closed. He kept his sight on the silver, metal doors.

Nasira meekly nodded her head as she gave him a naïve, wide-eyed stare. Her sight landed on the paper that was in her right hand. 'He's gonna—

"Dauntless Leader Coulter is a thorough and an effective leader. He has given more insight to the crops of initiates that has come into Dauntless, within the last six years than any other…"

'He's going to be executed.'

A force managed to cause blockage inside of her throat. A high-pitched gasp exited her mouth. With watery eyes, she kept her eyes on the tear-stained sheet of paper. She kept on reading, stating her cause.

"…saving his role as leader. I wrote this because I want his life to be spared. He deserves to prove his remorse—

"Do you believe that he is remorseful?"

Syllables died on her lips. Her eyes lifted their focus away from the paper and turned it towards the back of the Dauntless leader's head.

"Do you believe…" He glanced over his left shoulder at her. "…that he is remorseful?" he repeated.

"Yes," she answered, tearfully.

"Why?" He gazed at the silver doors. "Why do you think he is remorseful?"

"Because he would rather die than fight in a courtroom," Nasira pointed out.

Max clicked his teeth. "How do you know that? I've worked closely with Eric for over five years. I can tell you that he is a perfectionist that takes imperfection seriously. This situation is one major fuck-up for him. It is a _huge-fucking-stain_ on his near-pristine record. Knowing Eric… He would rather get a bullet through his skull than to walk these halls as a disgraced officer."

'He has a point, but…' The face of their son flashed across her mind's eye. "Luke."

"What about—

"He wouldn't do this… This…" She stammered as she tried to conjure up an appropriate word. "…This…Th-this… _Assisted suicide_! He loves Luke and he wouldn't do this, if he wasn't consumed with guilt!"

Max leveled a glare at her that left their effects to linger in her soul. "What about you?"

"He doesn't care." She shook her head and mildly grimaced. 'He doesn't care about me.' Her eyes glimpsed at the floor. "Not me… Not me," she professed. She glanced at the alpha regent. "He wouldn't give his life the middle finger because of a tarnished record! He wouldn't… You say that he can't handle humiliation, but did you ever think about how he would feel about his legacy? He… Max… He wouldn't. _I know this_."

The tension in the small chamber became thicker with added touches of her desperation and mild frustration. 'Come on, Max. Come on! Think!'

The Dauntless Alpha Regent released a slow inhale as he turned his face forward. He audibly exhaled. A wave of silence filled the small room. "Are you in love with him?"

"Uh… Unfortunately, yes," she confessed. She shrugged her shoulders and presented with a simpering smile. "What can I say?" She glanced at the floor. "I am an idiot," she murmured.

Before more words could be uttered, the carriage announced its arrival. A harmonious, electronic bell and a "Sub-level… Two" was announced.

'No…NO!' Nasira eyed the elevator's counter and saw that they were indeed in the cellar. 'The Catacombs,' her brain sighed. She gazed at Max's head as her belly coiled from the elevator's halt. "M-M-M-M-Max… Can you…" In her peripheral view, she watched the elevator's doors begin to separate. "…Can you… Can you please take what I said in account? P-Please?" she said into his back.

The doors slid into their respective slots and soon revealed the sub-level floor. Nasira was struck by a wave of paint-scented, cold air. Her sight took in the company of Dauntless soldiers that took up space in the well-lit corridor. Each man was armed with semi-automatic rifles and each soldier held their fingers close to the triggers. All eyes were aimed at her and the Dauntless leader.

"Miss Grant…" He turned his head slightly. "…this elevator will take you back topside."

"Max—

"Miss Grant," grunted Max, cutting her off. He was unleashing fringes of his frustration. "You will be going to the surface. This conversation is done." He gave her a brief glance. Then he had taken steps off of the elevator.

"Sir! I'm not trying to debate or be argumentative…" She took a pair of steps towards the exit. "…I just would like some form of confirm—

"Ma'am…"

Her vision was abruptly filled up with a broad, masculine chest that was covered by a dark-colored, flak jacket. Her vision drifted to the face that were several inches northward. Startling, bright blue eyes were focused on her face.

"…stay on the elevator and go upside," the soldier ordered.

Her sight on the retreating form of their leader. "Max!" she shouted.

"Ma'am, please get back into the elevator," the soldier ordered.

Nasira gave the soldier a short glower. She looked at Max again. Urgency filled her as she watched the leader board a electric cart. "Max!" she screamed.

"Ma'am!" groaned the guard. "Go!" His left pointer finger was aimed at her. "Go upstairs, now!"

Water-filled eyes scanned the face of the man that stood before her. During her surveillance, the thought about this man's possibility of having a family. Her face was filled with heat. A strange string of jealousy had formed around her heart.

"Ma'am… Please go," he ordered. His tone was less hostile yet it managed to hold its authority.

Nasira's feet made backward steps. Her eyes remained on the soldier. Meanwhile, her stiletto-clad feet committed to small, backward steps into the elevator's carriage. It wasn't until her back bumped into the smooth, cold wall, when she broke the eye contact. Her head whipped to the side to eye the force that bumped into her. She turned to face the soldier in time to see the elevator's doors slide close.

The carriage began to rise, giving her stomach the rippling effect. Her eyes turned to the elevator's counter and watched the panel's contents light up. She also experienced the window of possibility to help Eric, become smaller. 'He's gonna die. He's gonna… I know it. I know it.'

 ** _"_** ** _GROUND…FLOOR!"_**

* * *

Nasira's fingers touched her sunglasses once more to make sure that they were straight. She also wanted to make sure that her reddened eyes were covered. She didn't want her son's caretaker to know that she was crying, and crying for Eric, nonetheless. Her fingertips typed in the door's key-code and she listened for the low-volume, high-pitched monotone.

"Mama. Mama. Mama," she heard her son chant, from the inside of the apartment.

The mother mustered up the best smile that she could. It was the first time that Lucien's presence didn't cause an explosion of joy in her. It was hard for her. The boy reminded her of his father.

She turned the doorknob and opened the door. Like always, Lucien met her at the door with his beautiful self. His dark gray orbs radiated as they gazed at her. "H-Hey, Lukie-Bear," she weakly greeted the toddler.

"Mama…" The boy gave a floppy wave. "…Mama!"

"Hi, baby boy," she said in a hoarse voice. She stepped into the home and closed the door. "Where is Sophie?" she asked him.

"Fee-Fee!" he chirped. His left index finger pointed towards the kitchen. "Fee-Fee!"

"She's in the kitchen?" she sweetly said to the boy.

"Fee-Fee," he announced before running into the direction of the kitchen.

Nasira peeled her backpack off of her back and then she stripped off her shoes. She deposited the items on the couch before she approached the island counter. She eyed the teen as she stood in front of the stove. The caretaker was preparing dinner. "Hey Sophie," the woman announced as she sat in a stool.

The girl glanced at Nasira from over her right shoulder. "Good evening, Miss G! I'll be with you in a minute." She turned her attention to the contents that were on the stove. "I just want to turn… This… Chicken over."

"It's alright. Take your time. In fact..." She slid off of the stool. "… I am going to change out of my clothes and get in the shower real quick," she explained.

"Alright ma'am. Dinner will be done, when you return," the nanny told her.

"Okay." She stepped away from the counter and gone back to the couch to fetch her belongings.

"Mama-Mama-Mama-Mama-Mama…"

She glanced over at her son as he entered the living room. His bare feet performed a series of steps to his mother's location. She smiled at her son.

"…Mama…" He held his left hand out for her.

"You wanna go with me?"

Lucien nodded his head.

A genuine smile reached her face. She took his hand in her right hand. She looked at Sophie. "Sophie… Luke is going to come with me," she notified the girl.

"Okay, Miss G!"

Nasira stared at her smiling son. "Let's go, baby." Her boy giggled in response.

Both mother and son left the living room to go to her bedroom. Once inside, Lucien ran to the footboard and proceeded to climb the wood. She walked over and helped him onto the mattress. The boy shrieked with joy as he tried to run on the bed. "You definitely are a Dauntless kid," she concluded. Lucien ignored her and continued to play.

Nasira stepped away from the footboard and had gone to her chest of drawers. She dug through a drawer and produced several items. To the soundtrack of Lucien's cheers and babbling, she stripped out of her clothes. As she slipped on her bathrobe, she noticed her son was quiet.

"Luke, what…?" She looked over at the bed. "…are you doing that is making…" Her sight landed on the toddler. "…so…?"

Lucien was now sitting on the mattress, cross-legged. He was intently focused on his right set of fingers. His plump bottom lip was adorably poked out, a sign of his mental concentration. His left set of fingernails were scratching at the skin that was encased around his right fingertips.

His mother was instantly put in a moment of time, which occurred a few months ago, before their friendship had fallen apart. It was on a night that didn't held any sense of significance. Eric was sitting at her counter and was waiting for dinner. During the process, she had turned to the counter to fetch a spoon and she came upon Eric in a vulnerable spot. He was gazing at his fingernails as his other set of fingers picked at the skin that was on his other hand's fingers. His pink, full bottom lip was poked out.

It was the same look that Lucien was giving his fingers.

 _"_ _And this baby will have us there, too. They'll have us and we will tell them about their dad…"_

Trigger's words floated through her mind as she stared at her son. Once again, she was struck by the effects that came from Eric's situation. Her brain rehashed snippets from the surveillance footage.

'No!' She slightly shook her head as to force the negativity from her mind. 'No! Don't go there. Not now.'

"Mama," chirped Lucien.

Sniffling, Nasira eyed her son. "Yes, my big boy?" she softly greeted. She traveled over to the foot of the bed and stood in front of the child.

"Ma… Ma…" Lucien crawled from the center to the bottom of the mattress. His fat and small hands clasped onto her forearms. With a husky grunt, he rose to his knees. "Mama…" His mother helped him to his feet. "…Mama. Mama. Mama…" His slate-hued eyes had gone soft as he gazed at her. "…Mama…"

Nasira's eyes followed their natural instincts and closed as his right hand came to her face. She grimaced and braced herself for the sharp impact of the impending slap.

"…Mama…"

A soft touch was applied to her wet cheek from a sweaty and hot hand. The touch was a surprise.

"…Mama…"

She opened her lids to thin slit and she peeked at the child.

"…Mama…"

She felt another pet at her left cheek. She was subjected to a few more of her son's clumsy, soft swats before she was struck with the intent behind her son's actions. 'Oh!' Her already-watered eyes became drenched with more tears. The sensation of warmth touched her spirit and it caused her to blush. Her hands drew her son into her embrace. "Thank you, Lukie-Bear," she told him before she kissed his forehead.

Lucien giggled in response. He continued to wipe away her tears.

* * *

"How are you feeling… Miss G.?" inquired Sophie. She took a sip of her drink.

Nasira allowed a peek pass the blockade that she built around her emotions. Her heart immediately began to race while her stomach trembled. She was immediately bombarded with several 'what-ifs' scenarios and possibilities.

She put the wall back up around her mind. She looked down at her meal. "I… _really-really-really-really_ don't want to talk about that, right now," she confessed. Her mouth created a chuckle that displayed her sense of uneasiness.

"So… You want to talk about something else?"

"Yes, please," she sighed before taking a sip of water.

"Okay," Sophie's brown eyes stared down at the contents that were on her plate. "So… Would you… Would you mind if I ask you for some advice… About something?" she asked shyly.

"Sure," Nasira quickly answered, thankful for the temporary distraction. She took a bite from her portion of vegetables. "What's your situation?"

A light of excitement exploded in her eyes and a beaming smile encroached upon her face. "Well… Thank you!" She licked her bottom lip. "O-Okay…" She glanced down at her plate of food. "…I'll start at the beginning… About three weeks ago, I had gone to the Training Facility to ask about joining the P.D. On my way out of the precinct, I ended up…" She paused. Her chocolate-colored eyes scanned her meal. "I ended up meeting a… _A guy_ ," she revealed.

'Well-well-well,' Nasira's brain muttered. Her dark brown eyes met with the orbs that were staring.

"…He's a cop. His name is Lax. He's nice and he's _really-really_ funny…" Her eyes were glazed over as if she just recalled a fond memory. A giggle escaped her. "…He's…" Her shoulders slowly rose into a shrug. "… _cute_!" She giggled again.

Nasira was feeling pure delight as she watched the girl became coy. She was genuinely happy for the teen. "I can tell that you like him… _Very much_."

Sophie chuckled. "Yes. Yes, I do." She sighed. "We've been out on a few dates within the past few weeks. He originally is from Amity, so he understands the feelings that I have as a transfer. Um…" Her fingernails scratched at her chin. "…He encourages me. He has told me that he thinks that I would be an excellent cop, too!" Her face suddenly altered from showing her excitement to becoming sad, within seconds.

'Wait… But… What's wrong?' She eyed the teen. "So… What's wrong?" queried Nasira, her voice was thick with concern. "If you like him and he likes you—

"I don't think…" Her face was marked with a grimace. A huff escaped her mouth. "I don't think—I mean, there's something about me… A part of me feels like this is all one big prank," she solemnly confessed. "I see this great guy and he is interested in me…" She softly shook her head. "…But a part of me believes that he is… Using me." Her tear-filled eyes stared at Nasira. "I keep thinking that he's going to pull the rug from beneath me."

The mother provided the girl with a sympathetic smile. "Do you feel this way because… _Of your scars_?" she queried.

Sophie glanced at her plate again. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm…" She hesitated. Her left fingertips gave the scar that was on her forehead a caress. "I know that I won't… _Ever_ have a boyfriend or have men fight for my attention." She took a breath. "I know that I won't ever… The men, here… They claim that they want warrior-women, but they always chase after the Barbie Dolls that are barely dressed and gussied up."

'She does have a point.' Nasira quickly reflected about the men that indeed chased after certain Dauntless women. 'But it doesn't mean that this guy won't…' She smiled at her friend. "If you want my opinion, then I'm gonna say that you should trust this man. I don't think he is with you because he wants to humiliate you. Lemme tell you something…" She made an audible exhale as she stacked her hands on each other. She smiled. "…Dauntless men are not wasteful creatures. Sure, they are capable of acting like jerks and boneheads and everything. But they won't waste their time pursuing girls that they aren't attracted to. I think this guy—

"His name is Lax," explained Sophie.

"Lax. I don't think _Lax_ wants to harm you, honey. I think he genuinely likes you and he finds you to be attractive."

"You think so?"

"Yes, I think so," Nasira told him before taking a sip of her drink.

"I hope so," grumbled Sophie.

"Trust me… He does like you, Soph." She listened to the caretaker hum her act of skepticism.

Silence managed to seep into the living room. The two female Dauntless members ate their pickings that were left on their plates. The calming sounds of the low-volume music from the stereo and the high-volume sounds of Lucien's snoring wafted through the atmosphere. Nasira kept her eyes busy during this time. They quietly surveyed features that were in the living room. She actively kept her attentive mind busy. She didn't want to think about Eric and everything that pertained to him.

"Are you going to work tomorrow?" Sophie asked, out of the blue.

Nasira glanced at her dinner guest. "Yeah…" She glanced at her plate. "I'm going to work…" Her fork lightly scraped the plate's surface. "…I can't stay home and hide. I gotta…" She sighed. "…continue on. Besides…" She eyed the teenager. "…all of the condolences will be aimed at Anissa anyway…" she mumbled. "…Along with every whisper and every bit of gossip." Her eyes' sight flickered to Sophie's face. Her jaw stopped in the midst of a chew. 'What?"

The expression of reluctance graced Sophie's face. Her eyes exposed a million and one possibilities while her lips barely spoken just one. The pair of brown eyes focused on the invisible, pink and dancing elephant that Nasira was sure was located behind her. Her sight caught the trembling bottom lips that belonged to the nanny.

"What… Sophie?" she squeaked as her throat felt like it was being squeezed.

"I," her voice squeaked. Her jaw snapped shut for a second before she made another attempt to speak. "I… I-I-I know that you said you didn't want to talk about… _The incident_. B-But, I heard that…" Sophie glanced at Nasira. "… _she was involved_."

"How?"

"Fix…" She glimpsed down at her plate. "…he was flirting with her…" She returned her gaze to Nasira. "…From what I heard from a couple of people… Eric just happened to enter the training room, when Fix was still talking to her. He had initiated the fight and… And you know what happened."

 _"—_ _Anissa is intelligent… She's a warrior! She will fight, scratch and bite in order to survive! She—_

'And she's a got-damned demon!' Nasira's lips snarled as a grunt escaped. She whipped off of the stool and snatched her used dinnerware from off of the counter. '… Yet, here you are, bending over backwards for her…'

"Miss G.?"

Sock-covered feet pounded the linoleum tiles as they traveled to the sink. '…You _gave and gave and gave_ to that… _Bitch_! And you received nothing in return, Eric, except a pat on the fucking head and some bit of pussy!' Anger caused her to callously deposit her dishes into the sink. Sudsy water splashed onto the counter that was attached. 'She used you like you were some kind of pup…'

"Miss G., are you okay?"

'…pet and you're just…'

"Miss G., I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything to you. It just…"

'…allowing yourself…' Nasira turned away from the sink. Her tear-filled eyes stared at the teen. Her hands curled into shaking fists. "What's… _wrong with me_?" Her voice trembled. "What's wrong with… Me?!" she groaned.

"I-I-I-I-I… You're _sad_ ," concluded the caretaker with her brown eyes wide, in fright.

"No…" she declared with a head shake. "…I'm stupid and crazier than the Mad Hatter," she announced with a wry chuckle attached. She glanced at the floor. "Here I am: on the verge of a breakdown and it's all due to a man, who _doesn't give two shits about me_!" Tears were pushed out of their ducts as her eyes focused on Sophie. "I saw him yesterday. He was in his jail cell. He was asleep and he was sick... He's a weeper…"

An audible gasp shot out of the teen. "He's a weep—

"He's going through withdrawal now. When I saw him, he was covered in that kid's blood, in his own piss and vomit. He looked like he was on his way to dying. And you know what?" Her face frowned up. "All I wanted to do at that moment was to clean him up, take care of him and to tell him that everything was going to be alright." She dramatically tossed her hands up. " _What-the-fuck is wrong with me?!"_ She shook her fists again. "He slammed me into a wall…" Her right hand clumsily and brusquely was aimed at the wall. "…for friggin' sake! And all I want to do right now is _hold him..._ And make him understand that he is loved! And I won't ever hurt him! And _this_ is what makes me… _Hate myself_ right now! He's… Done stuff to me and has said stuff to me and…" She wearily sighed. Her tired eyes focused on Sophie. "… _I still love him_." She chuckled. " _How is that even possible?!_ And…" She shook her head. "…I can't even blame my kids for this one! I can honestly say… I would _still_ be in this predicament, if I didn't have Luke or…" Her hands jiggled her stomach's hard lump. "… _this baby_!" She resumed pacing. "And I am _sooo mad at him_! I am mad at him for not seeing that _bitch_ as the evil, little cunt that she is! I am mad at him for not using that little bit of sense that those blue-bougie-bastards had implanted in him!" Nasira continued to pace in front of the sink and silently curse herself.

"I think…"

Nasira stopped pacing and then she glared at Sophie.

"…I think we cannot…" Sophie paused and gathered her thoughts. "I think we can control our choices in whether or not we should enter relationships. But I don't think…We can control our love for someone, even when that person does something wrong to us. We can't turn our love for one person off, like it's a light switch. I think it stays with us for a while, at least." The teen smiled a little. "You shouldn't beat yourself up, Miss G. He has your heart right now. But its temporary."

The mother just stared at the teen for close to a minute before announcing, "I just wish that I didn't love him."

"It takes time, Miss G."

"I wish it was just…" Nasira's voice trailed off.

"I know."

* * *

After Nasira's emotional release in the kitchen, and after Sophie's words of comfort, the two women decided to go on with the evening's routine tasks. Sophie gathered up a sleeping Lucien from his high chair and prepared him for bed. Meanwhile, Nasira cleaned the living room and the kitchen. As she cleaned, she allowed her mind to entertain her spirit with fantasies of domestic life. Her spirit glowed with happiness. The burdens from the day were banished for the moment.

Sophie left the apartment, an hour later. Yet not before she gave her employer a tight embrace, along with the promise that she would visit on the next day. Nasira was warmed by the caretaker's act of affection.

Once alone, she noticed the loneliness and the deafening silence that was permeating through the apartment. Being a mother to an active toddler, this was an occurrence that she usually looked forward for. Now, it was an unsettling sensation. Her eyes did a quick inventory of the kitchen and the living room, checking for any potential hazards. Once she realized that everything was in order, she decided to get ready for bed. She shut off the lights in the living room and then traveled to the master bedroom, to prepare.

Forty-eight minutes and one shower later, Nasira dressed herself in a frumpy shirt. She stepped out of the steamy bathroom and entered the hallway. The colorful lights that spilled out of the bedroom that was directly across, caught her attention. She made the trek into Lucien's nursery. She was blessed with the steady sounds of the toddler's soft snoring. They floated from his crib and into the air, sprinkling down on her.

"Hey baby boy," she whimpered as she approached the crib's guard rail. Once there, she peered down at her sleeping son. "How's my baby boy doing?" she rhetorically asked. After listening to his snores for a minute, she spoke up again. "I'm so… So… I'm _so-so-so-so_ sorry, Luke," she whispered.

As she spoke and gazed at her son, her brain reflected. There was a recall of made-up memories that were created as she swept the living room's floor, close to three hours ago. Her brain was making her spirit glow with bittersweet happiness. Snapshots of Eric carrying Lucien in the air as the toddler imagined that he was in airplane, were splayed out in her mind. The scenario of blue eyes watching her as she sat in Luke's rocking chair and allowed their newborn to nurse off of her breasts, in a dimly-lit bedroom. There was the recollection about a make-believed occurrence of having strength wrapped around her widened waist and warm, sweet-smelling breath fanning her face. Darkness from the sky covered her vision while the songs from both the cicadas and the crickets lulled the both of them. His hands clasped onto her spherical-shaped stomach. She recalled the strong, emotional security that was conjured during this moment.

"I'm sorry," she softly cried to the boy. "I'm sorry that you won't have him anymore. And I know…" Her left hand wiped at her cheeks. "…I know…" Her fingers dried the tip of her nose. "…that you're gonna find this to be so… _Unfair_ , when you become older. And you have every right to be angry, baby. I'm sorry that your father didn't try hard enough for you… Not for me…" She shook her head. "…But, for you."

A hand slowly descended into the crib and fingers found their way into the blanket of soft brown coils. Her fingernails lightly scratched at his scalp and sifted through his locks. Her eyes took in the sight of the sleeping face of her son.

"I'm sorry, baby boy."


	4. Chapter Three: Neglected Truths

**Author's Note:** Well, here is the third chapter to "Trying For Redemption".

I'm trying to churn these out, as much as I can, folks. Hopefully, I will be able to post the last chapter this week.

 **RATING:** Rated 'M' for Mature. Strong adult content. Strong adult language. Mentions of abuse.

 **WARNING:** This story is A/U and Non-Canon. Involves both O/Cs and characters from the "Divergent Series". However, the characters will be OOC in this tale.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR THE SETTINGS THAT ARE MENTIONED IN "THE DIVERGENT SERIES". THOSE CHARACTERS BELONG TO VERONICA ROTH.

Please leave you reviews or your inquiries. Despite not being able to see them on FFnet, I am able to read the comments on my email pages. So, I do see them. I probably will send a few people a 'private message'.

Thank you for the comments and the love.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Neglected Truths**

 _"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."_

 _-Oscar Wilde, "The Importance of Being Earnest"_

* * *

"—it's her…"

"Yeah, it's her…"

"…has a baby by him…"

"I know, a cute little boy…"

"—a fuckin' weeper…"

" _Big, bad Eric_ is a fuckin' addict! How's those apples?!"

"I heard that he ripped that boy's eyes out and ate them, man!"

"Fuckin' mongrel…"

"The boy's funeral was two days ago—

"His parents were allowed to come…"

"—you think that they're gonna… _You know_?"

"Fuck yeah! That piece-of-shit murdered a Dauntless member! Leader or not, he will get what's coming to him!"

The last statement flooded her ears' canals as she exited the department's canteen. The statement grew sharp teeth and they ate their passage into her skull, then into her brain. The comment released a poisonous seed, where it found fertile ground. It grew into branches of sadness, anger and insecurity. It weighed her spirit down.

Nasira entered her unit and was immediately struck with comfort, which was something that eluded her for the past five days.

Five days.

Five days managed to run by

Five days had gone and there was no answer from the leaders. According to her uncle, Xerxes, they were still in the deliberation process. Turned out, contemplation for Eric's impending punishment was trickier than any of them had expected. The young man, despite his stand-offish behavior and quest for perfection, managed to worm his way into the hearts of these men and women that were leaders. For them, it turned out to be like choosing the manner in which their relative was going to be killed. This wasn't the deliberation for a faceless and nameless, Dauntless stranger that killed or maimed another, during a bar fight or in a back alley. This was for a leader, one of their own who was charged for murder. This proved to be tougher than any of them had expected.

But, it was tougher for Nasira, who believed that she was slowly descending into a sea of insanity. Five days passed since her late-night apology to her son and she has been wrecked with an assortment of emotions and physical frailties. Her mind, spirit and body was taut with stress and tension. She was expecting to receive a call from her uncle or to have a pair of Dauntless soldiers show up to her job or to her home, to share the news of his execution. The constant worrying left her with muscle aches, weary eyes, a barely-full stomach and the consistent need for sleep yet she was gifted with an over-abundance of insomnia.

As she entered familiar territory, her heavy eyes did a swift perusal over the space that was filled with cubicles. Only a few members of her team were present. They were engrossed in their work to notice her return. Her forehead found its way to her desk's surface as soon as she sat in her rolling chair. She closed her eyes and was immediately spoiled with the images of the nightmare that plagued her mind, for the past week.

The nightmare was always the same. She was stuck in an unfamiliar territory that was outside of the wall. Images of a dead, amd bruised version of a nude Eric, filled up her head. His bulky and once-imposing body was discarded into a heap that was a part of a landfill. His body was positioned in a state of discard: he was laying face-down, his arms were bent in odd angles while his legs were stretched out. The back of his head was the home of a gaping hole, which showcased rotting flesh, scraps of bone and a legion of maggots.

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BRRRRIIIINNNGGG!"_**

Nasira pried her forehead from off of the desk and allowed her sight to eye the black, plastic phone that was on the desk.

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BRRRRIIIINNNNGGG!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _BA—_**

Her right hand swiftly picked up the phone's handle and brought it to her left ear. "System—

"Grant, my office… _Now_." Then, a soft click was implanted in her ear. It was Rafe. Her boss…Who happened to be Eric's brother.

"All-righty," she mumbled into the phone's mouthpiece. She placed the receiver on the cradle. Her right hand tried to rub energy into her face. 'Okay damn it… Wake up and let's go.'

Nasira slipped from her chair and she proceeded to trek to Rafe's office, which was on the second level that overlooked the entire department. She gave three knocks to a closed black door and waited a few seconds before the door opened. She was presented with the sight of her lanky boss. She noticed his hazel eyes give her a quick surveillance.

"Come in," Rafe's naturally-gravel voice rang out. He gave her another glance before he stepped away from the doorway.

'Oh…Kay,' she silently murmured while considering her boss' odd behavior. She stepped into the office, a second later.

"Close that door, please," he ordered in a monotone voice.

Nasira followed his order. Her eyes scanned the office as her feet trekked across the floor.

"Do you want something to drink?" Rafe inquired as soon as she entered the middle of the office. His lanky form was standing in front of a small refrigerator, which was a few feet away from the door. His hazel eyes were soft and aimed at her face.

"No, sir," she declared as she traveled out of the center of the room. A rumbling noise roared from her belly as pressure formed in that space. Her right hand touched her stomach and provided soothing caresses. She glimpsed at her clasping hand and then at Rafe. "Better yet… I'll make that a 'yes,'" she told him.

"Alright," he murmured. He looked in his fridge. "What do you want? I have beer, gin, whisky, water, orange juice, pineapple juice, vod—

"The orange juice will be fine," she told him.

"With no vodka in it?"

"No," she sighed. She eyed the double chairs that were poised in front of the desk. "I'm… _I'm pregnant_ ," she confessed.

" _No shit_?!" she heard him say. "It's my brother's?"

Nasira's head snapped into his direction. Her eyes harvested a low-level amount of animosity at her boss. "Yes," she uttered through clenched teeth.

The look did not go unnoticed by Rafe. Amusement laced his orbs. His eyebrows rose in a cheeky action. "Just checkin'," he said in an amusing manner. "How far along are you?"

"Thirteen weeks," she answered as she sat in the left chair that was in front of the desk.

"Well… _Congratulations_ ," Rafe said in a smug tone. He shut the refrigerator's door and made his way over to Nasira. "Here," he said as he offered a cup of orange juice.

"Thank you," she softly said to him as she accepted the cup.

Rafe gifted her with a steely-eyed gaze. "You're welcome," he declared with a certain tone.

For Nasira, his whole current demeanor reminded her of his brother's mannerisms.

"Boy or girl?" he asked as he walked in front of his desk's side.

"I don't know. I have a doctor's appointment, next week. I will learn about the sex of the baby, then. Right now, the only thing that I know is the fact that he… _Or she_ , is about the size of a pea pod," she informed him as her fingertips drummed a rhythm into the cup's sides. "Just yesterday… There was a bit of movement. Just a little." A wave of light-headedness touched her skull, when she came upon a realization. _'Oh…Kay_. Why am I telling him all of this?'

"Well… I hope that the son-of a-bitch gets a girl…" Rafe announced as he sat down in his executive chair. His hazel eyes focused on the black thermal cup that was on his desk. "… _He deserves_ one."

"W-Why would you say—

"Because this family needs a Coulter female that is actually worth a damn."

'Their mother,' her conscience revealed to her. 'He's talking about her… _This is your chance!_ _Nass! He's talking!_ ' She slowly inhaled and exhaled, an attempt to gather her courage. This was an opportunity to find out about Eric's childhood and his upbringing, from the one source that would know everything.

"Go on and ask your question," Rafe told her before he had taken a sip of his beverage.

'How d—

"It's written all over your face," he claimed as he settled the bottom of his cup on the desktop. "Did you know, Miss Grant, that you have a very expressive face?"

Nasira softly shook her head.

"Yeah… You wear your emotions… And sometimes, _your thoughts_ , on your face," Rafe pointed out. "So… What do you want to know?"

Her plump cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

"So you might as well ask your questions, Nasira."

'Okay… Dollars-to-donuts… Rafe will probably won't hold back…' Rather than take on the role of being reserved, she spoke up. "Um… _Eric_ … He told me… Some... _things..._ about your mother…"

" _Ooooh… Did he?"_ Rafe said to her with a sarcastically giddy tone.

Her brow developed a deep crease while her lips formed a lop-sided frown. "…in _not-so-many nice words_ … He said that she wasn't a mother to you guys."

Rafe chuckled. " _That's an understatement!_ " His eyes focused at the floor-to-ceiling window that was several feet away from his location. He applied his weight to the back of the chair, making the chair lean backwards. "Our mother…Let's just say that the five factions should've passed a law in which people are forced to undergo psychiatric evaluations, before they become parents."

Nasira's face frowned up.

"My mother's family is originally from Erudite, but if you dig deeper into my family tree, you'll find a lot of Amity branches in there…"

Her eyes widened while her lips formed a smile. 'Oh, wow. Looks like we _do_ have something in common, Eric.'

"…My mother was raised by folks who definitely lived up to the "Bougie in Blue" stereotype. They looked down on people, who weren't from Erudite, despite the fact that they weren't people who had much, them-damn-selves…" He chuckled. Once the laughter simmered down, he resumed speaking about his family history. "My mother…" Rafe glimpsed at her. "…was their favorite…" He looked towards the window again. "…According to them, she was their smartest child. She was the one that was going to go places, when she became an adult. She was going to turn them into the ' _next Rockerfellers and Rothchilds'_ according to them… What they didn't suspect was for their _precious child_ to turn her back on them, after she made the decision to stay in Erudite."

'Mmmm,' Nasira's brain grunted in distaste. 'That's typical… They raised a self-centered monster and she had done what they taught her to do.'

"My mother… And I am assuming, here… She thought that she was going to pass her Erudite initiation with ease... After all... She was the smartest person in the world. She was gonna to be the highest-ranking initiate out of her class. Turned out…" He grabbed his cup from off of the desk. "…She wasn't the smartest person in the world…" He had taken a sip of his beverage. Once the rim of his cup parted from his lips, he spoke up again. "…She learned during her initiation that she was truly a guppy that was swimming in an ocean. She was out of her element. The other initiates were smarter. They were able to adapt to things quicker and faster than her. She learned that she wasn't the _smartest person in the world,_ which her parents told her over and over and over again. She… Uh, ended up in last place, in the rankings for that year. I'm sure that she was angry and resentful about it…" He held the rim of the cup a few centimeters away from his mouth. "…She damned sure act like she was, when I was a child." He had taken another sip.

"Was she _always_ … terrible to you all?" asked Nasira, before she had sip from her cup of chilled orange juice.

" _Not always_ …" He glanced out of the window again. "…When she and my dad was together, she wasn't abusive to me. She… _Yelled_ , a lot…" Rafe glimpsed at her. "…But it was my dad, who had taken all of the abuse from her, during those years."

"Your _dad_?"

Rafe nodded his head. "Me, Eric and… Our brother, Francis, have different fathers. For the longest time, I thought we all had the same dad. It wasn't until, around the time when my dad left us, when I was told the truth…" He placed his cup onto the desktop just as his chair swiveled. "My… _Mother_ never loved my father. She was more infatuated by his profession than being in love with him. My dad was a lead researcher for Erudite's genetics research facility. He was a very smart man with a very important job. My dad was a big-wig, at work. But when it came to the social scenes, he wasn't even… He was shy and he felt awkward in social settings. I remember when we were forced to attend parties by my mother, we would sit in corners of the rooms and talk, which would drive my mother crazy."

"When did he leave?" she asked.

"Ummm…" His facial features crumpled as he contemplated. "...When I was ten years old… It was around the time of Eric's fifth birthday. I remember that day. The day that he left. I came home from school with Eric and Francis. I told them to go to the living room and watch TV while I make them something to eat…." He scratched the back of his neck as he sighed. "…At the time, I was cooking and taking care of the house. My mother was already _gone_ —

"Gone?" Nasira asked with her brow frowned up.

His hazel eyes glowed as they leveled her with a glare. "She became a drinker, by then. She would fall into one of her drunken sleeps and she would spend the entire days, just sleeping. So, the family had to rely on me to feed them… So anyway, I had gone to the kitchen and prepared them some sandwiches. I ended up going to the bathroom. It was in there, when I realized that my dad's stuff wasn't in there. I had gone to their bedroom, where she was asleep and I had gone through their drawers and their closets. All of his stuff was gone."

'Whoa,' her brain gasped. The notion that their father would just pack his stuff up and leave them with that abusive drunk, caused her stomach to groan and her anger to rise. "Did your dad ever tried to…? Did he ever… _come back_ and see you guys? Or did he just…?" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Rafe answered. He nodded his head. "Yeah." His eyes scanned the items on his desk. "He had shown up, a few days later, to see us. I remember my mother was in the background, talking shit to him. But, he did see us. Then, as the years progressed, we would meet him either in Hawthorne Plaza or in a park that wasn't too far away."

"What about…"

"You know the one…"

Both statements were spoken simultaneously, which caused each person to halt in their speech. Dark brown eyes met up with a pair of hazel-green orbs.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"No… Go ahead," he said softly.

Nasira gifted him with a small grin before she spoke up again. "What about Eric's dad?"

"What about him?"

"Has he ever…Tried to see him?" queried Nasira. "Does he know who he is?"

Rafe kissed his teeth and then shook his head. "Nope," he answered. "The only person that knows who this dude is, is my mother and I doubt she will open up her mouth and say anything."

"Oh," she whimpered.

"The only man that Eric considered to be his father was my dad. That's the only man that he was raised around."

A few seconds of silence passed.

"How was Eric like, when he was a ch—

"When he was a kid?" Once she nodded her head, Rafe answered. " _Quiet_ ," he chuckled. The laughter quieted down, but a jovial smile was left in its place. "He was shy, when he was a little boy. The only time he spoke was when I had to force him to speak up. I think this is why he developed such a bad stutter, when he was a kid…"

Nasira noticed that Rafe's intimidating orbs developed a glaze over them.

"…When he was a baby and a toddler, he looked like a baby-doll. He had this curly…" His hands hovered over his head and drew invisible halos around his crown. "…afro of blond hair and these big, bright blue eyes…"

In her mind, she imagined this adorable baby. Her heart rate quickened while her face grew hot. A smile approached her lips.

"…He had gained a lot of attention from women and girls, when he was that age. I used to use that to my advantage, when I was a kid!" He lowly chuckled. "As he grew older, he became targets for bullies. He was the perfect target for them: he was skinny and small. Plus, we were poor and it showed. I tried my best to protect them by doing the 'menacing, big brother' routine on them. And I did the same for Francis, too." His hand wiped the imaginary sweat from his forehead. "The _'_ _Eric'_ that you know of is definitely not the one that I had taken care of."

A warmth took over her as she imagined a child-like Eric. As the possibilities still floated inside of her brain, she queried, "How did you find out about me and your brother?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out…" He leaned deeper into his chair, causing the back of the chair to bob through the air. His left hand had reached for the back of his head. "…It was easy. First, I kept noticing that you would leave your desk to answer tech requests, which came from his secretary's phone. Then one day, I received a call from him, out of the blue. He asked me _something_ about you…I forgot what it was, but it pertained to you. Then, everything began to make sense for me, when I noticed that you were starting to show. _Then,_ I started to receive at least one call per day, from him. _Then,_ when you left for that Amity-thing, the calls became more frequent. It was to the point, when I had to tell him to fucking chill-out with them. Then, there was _that day_ , when I saw the picture of your boy, in your cubicle. It solidified everything for me. Your boy looks exactly like Eric, when he was a baby. He also looks like all of my boys…"

' _SONS?! Rafe has kids?!'_

" _What?_ " he chuckled. "Why do you look like I said something so shocking?"

Nasira blinked her eyes several times as her lips parted. "I… I-I-I-I…" She sighed. "I… I didn't know that you—

" _Have kids?_ " His left eyebrow twitched. His left hand made a few more caresses to the back of his head. A tight-lipped smile graced his pink lips as his eyes twinkled. "Yeah, well, I don't volunteer that info," he said with a slyness.

"How many boys do you have?" she asked with genuine curiosity. The thought that her son would have playmates in the form of cousins, tickled her soul.

"Six hard-headed, crumb-snatchers," he proudly answered. Rafe's right hand reached across the desktop's surface, to the edge that was several inches in front of Nasira. His fingers clasped the picture frame and he spun it around. He presented the picture's image to his guest's viewing.

'Oh,' her brain delightfully yelped. Her naturally-narrowed eyes widened in diameter as she stared at the photograph.

"Remington is my oldest boy. He's nine years old. I already know that he's gonna be a Dauntless man. He's not like myself or like his mother, at all," Rafe reported.

"His mother is not a Dauntless-born?"

"Nope… She's from Amity," he confessed.

Nasira eyed her boss. "Amity? You fell in _love with an Amity girl_?"

A look if incredibility crossed his face. " _What?_ "

Nasira snickered. "You… Don't…. Well, I'm sure that she's a lovely woman," she quickly muttered before she glanced at the picture. She pointed to the photo. "So, who are the other—

"After Remington, there's my boy Rafe Junior… Or, 'R.J.' as he prefers to be called. He's seven. My wife thinks he will transfer to Erudite, on his Choosing Day. He's smart, which is true. But, he's so humbled about his intelligence, which makes me prouder of him…"

Hearing Rafe describe his son's intelligence made Nasira feel bittersweet. Eric wasn't going to be around to be able to describe his son's sense of intelligence or to brag about Lucien's academic accomplishments. Or, for this unborn child's accomplishments and developmental milestones.

"…R.J. is followed by our son Paul, whose six years old. His birthday is a week and two days after R.J.'s birthday…"

'Wait… So, that means that Paul was conceived during the time when their mother—

"Yup," Rafe announced, enunciating every syllable. "We didn't wait the entire _eight weeks_ that the doctor had given my wife," he confessed.

Nasira's face had frowned up with disgust. 'Too. Much. Information, Rafe.'

Rafe released an all-knowing chuckle. After his laughter was turned down, he continued. "Our twins, Harris and Dallas—

" _Harris and Dallas_?"

He held his left hand in the air as his head subtly shook and he rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me. That was my wife's idea. They are named after her grandfathers… The twins are four years old. They are my little Tasmanian Devils…" He briefly chuckled. "…They drive my wife up-the-wall, sometimes. If they aren't climbing off of things or demolishing them, they drive her crazy with their constant questions. I think those two will be picking Erudite, when they turn sixteen."

"Well, if they do pick Erudite, then they will be living there with another pair of twins…" She glimpsed at Rafe. "…My twin brothers, Atlas and Pollux, also live in Erudite," she informed him.

"Cool," the supervisor said softly as he subtly nodded his head. "After the twins, comes my two-year-old named Knox. He is a sweetheart. Very friendly, especially towards girls and women. I don't know how to feel about that one. After Knox, is the baby, Vivienne, who is eight-months-old."

"I thought you said that you have all boys?" she said to him as she stared at the picture.

" _I do_ ," he groaned. "Once again… It was the missus' idea to name the youngest ' _Vivienne'_. He's named after her father, who passed away when she was a pre-teen… I don't say shit, when it comes to the name-picking. She's the one that has to carry all of them for nine months and to push them out, so she has every right to pick their names…"

'Smart man,' her brain uttered.

"…I do have a feeling that Vivienne is going to change his name, once he reaches sixteen, though."

"Well…" She glanced at her boss. "…he has five older brothers. I'm sure that they will kick some boys' asses, if they decide to pick on him," she pointed out.

"True," he said to her.

Nasira's dark brown eyes focused on the photograph's contents. Her orbs captured the sight of five boys and an infant. Every child was asleep, when this picture was taken. They were laying on a thick-looking blanket, in various positions, with the exception of the newborn who was laying in a car seat. She was able to pinpoint the physical similarities that the children shared with their father. They all had the same pointed chin, cheeks, lips and nose as their father.

"I told my wife that we could keep trying for a girl…" His fingers turned the photograph away from her observing eyes.

Nasira focused on him.

"…She put me out of our bedroom and I had to sleep on our couch, next to our Mastiff, Pepper."

Both adults found humor in his reflection and they laughed in polite formats. Once the laugher died down, a semi-awkward silence permeated through the office. During this time, her brown eyes found their way to her boss' profile, who was staring down at the picture that showcased his sons. The imposing aura that he typically wore, was off. His once-dead eyes were alert and filled with an energy that were blazing in his eyes.

"Have you seen him?" Rafe asked unexpectedly, with his eyes still focused on the photograph. "Or, you can't see him?"

Rafe's inquiries managed to conjure the spell of memories from when she visited the Isolation Hall, room number twenty-three. Her brain brought back the moment of when she stood in front of the door that led to Eric's cell. She recalled the putrid odors that spilled from the small window in his door. The image of the sickly and dirty body was etched into her mind.

"I had seen him, last Saturday. My brother had taken me to The Land, to see him." She released a strong exhale and a shudder through her body. "He was…" She paused with her speech. In her head, she weighed her options about whether or not, if she revealed Eric's drug abuse to his brother. She didn't know if it was a good idea as to reveal that information to Rafe.

"What?" Rafe's lips muttered as he slowly sat upright in his seat. His eyes were focused on her. "What is it?"

Nasira took a deep breath. ' _Fuck it!_ Tell…' She glimpsed at his cup and then at his hazel eyes. "When I saw him, he was sick and suffering from… _Withdrawal_ symptoms," she confessed.

Rafe's brown frowned up, in confusion. " _Withdrawal? What_ was he using?"

Nasira felt it. There was a sense of paternal-parental scolding in his voice. She recognized it, very well. She swallowed. "Wept," she simply stated. She brought the rim of the cup to her lips and took a sip of juice. She heard Rafe's groan of disgust as she drank the semi-bittersweet juice.

" _Fuckin' Christ, man_! _Fuck, Eric_!" he harshly mumbled.

She placed the cup's bottom on her thigh. "He was on it, when he killed that kid. He was… He drug-tested, at the prison and they found different strains of that _stuff_ in his system."

Rafe unleashed a deep exhale and ran his hands across his face. "Do you know what happened on that day?" he asked from beneath his hands.

She nodded her head. "He…" She looked away. His reaction was getting to her. It was obvious that Rafe loved his brother. He was disappointed and angry at Eric, in the manner that a love one would possess, for a flawed relative. Her brain conjured up an image of her son's father. 'See, you asshole? You are loved.' She stared at her hands. "He...Um…initiated a fight with one of his former initiates because the kid was flirting with Anis…"

There was a blood-curdling groan. It sliced through the atmosphere and warmed the room.

Her gaze landed on Rafe. "…sah. He must've been on the stuff because…" Her mind began to fill with images that she watched from Warden Clarke's projection screen. With a shudder and an eye roll, she continued to explain. "He would've never lost control like that, if he was sober." More silence filled the office before she spoke again. "Judging by that groan, you must know who Anissa is."

" _Yes_ … Yes, I do," stated Rafe. His hands dropped to his lap. He stared at her. "He introduced her, to me, a few weeks after he made it into Dauntless. She gave me bad vibes. She…" He paused to exhale. "She reminded me of a doll. But, not in a good kind of way. She had the same weird, _not real_ kind of look in her eyes."

Nasira sighed, when she understood the message behind his words. She decided to help him out. "She didn't show any warmth in her eyes. No…" Her right index and middle fingers pointed to her eyes. "…emotion in her eyes," she clarified.

"Yeah," she heard him say. Rafe shook his head. "I've never trusted her. She had him wrapped around her little finger." He had taken another sip of his beverage. "I blame myself… a little bit, to be honest with ya." He glanced at the top of his cup. "When I left for Dauntless, I was sixteen years old. I didn't really want to be here, at first. I just wanted to get away from _her_. By then, my mother had become worse. The drinking became more frequent, so did the screaming and the yelling. At that point, I had taken my father's place and became her punching bag. I wanted to leave that place so badly. But I had to protect Francis and Eric. But, I was tired. I was tired of being hungry. I was tired of not having any decent clothes. I was tired of feeling like I wasn't shit. I was tired of hearing that _fucking voice_ of hers. I think that I would've killed that bitch, by now, if I stayed in Erudite…" He shook his head. "…I had to go. But, I do regret leaving Francis and Eric with her. But… I had to go." He had taken a gulp of his beverage.

An uncomfortable wave of silence filled up the office. The tension caused the mother to grow goose-pimples and every muscle in her legs to tighten up. "So… Why did you leave Erudite?" She shrugged her shoulders. "You could've stayed in Erudite. For the few couple of months, you would've stayed in the initiate dormitory, but you still could've been there for your family."

"If I had chosen Erudite, I would've ended up being cut from the initiation," remarked Rafe. " _I know this_ _much_." He had taken another gulp of his drink. He swiveled his chair and pressed his back further into the chair. "Besides… Erudite was never my home. That place… That… _Society_ … It wasn't for a knuckle-head like me."

"Mmm," she hummed as she settled into her own chair.

"What?"

"Your brother told me the same thing, once. I asked him for his reasons for joining Dauntless and he said the same thing."

"Mmmm… You don't say," he sarcastically announced.

Nasira rolled her eyes, in response. "Do you think Eric came to Dauntless because you were here?"

Rafe shook his head. "No," he answered. "I think he came here on his own accord—

The System Analyst supervisor was interrupted by the sounds of knocking, from his office's door.

Automatically, both technicians tossed on their shrouds of professionalism with the signs of their corrected postures, being the only outward signs. The sentimental and personal conversations were long forgotten.

" _COME IN!_ " shouted Rafe to his office's door.

A millisecond later, the door opened and a trio of Nasira's colleagues came filing into the office-suite. She gave each person a glance before she glared at Rafe. "Thanks for the talk, Rafe," she swiftly and lowly pronounced. A heavy, hazel-eyed gaze was given to her, in response. She watched his head dole out a nod. There was a soft grin from her lips and then she lifted herself from out of the chair. She made a quick exit out of his office.

Once she returned to her cubicle, Nasira noticed the consistent blinking from the red light that was on her phone. 'Message.' She picked up the receiver and proceeded to activate her phone's voicemail service.

" _Message one… Today, Friday, July twenty-eighth,"_ the automated voice announced. A millisecond later, her left ear was greeted by Sophie's voice. " _Miss G.,_ it's Soph… Um… I think you should come home right now…"

'Wha…' A seedling of fear sprouted from her mind. Her body tightened while her skin grew cold.

"…Your uncle is here…" She whispered, "… _with four big-assed, guys_ …" She returned to her normal voice. "…and they are waiting for you. I told them…"

Using the toe of her right sandal, she opened the bottom desk drawer. Her right hand quickly snatched up her knapsack. Nimble fingers attacked the gold zipper that was built of the front of the bag. She fetched her cell phone from the pocket.

"…that you would be home around a quarter-to-six and then…"

Nasira's fingertips activated the phone's text messaging application.

"…they told me to call you. I think…"

Dark brown eyes were welcomed to the application with a list of contacts that had left messages for her.

"…I think… I think it has to do…"

She scanned the eighteen messages that were left on her phone. All of the messages carried the same intention: she needed to go home, immediately.

" _…_ _with Eric,_ " whispered Sophie. There was a sense of fear stuck in her voice. There was a soft clicking sound.

 _"_ _You have no new messages,"_ the automated voice announced.

Her right hand pulled the black, plastic receiver away from her ear and she settled it onto the cradle. She returned her focus to the cell phone that was in her hands. Nasira felt her own fear rise and sprout. With a chattering jaw, she closed the phone's messaging application and she activated the keypad application. Her fingertips pressed a sequence of numbers that were presented and then she pressed the phone to her left ear. She listened to three soft rings before there was a soft clicking sound and then a "H-Hello? Miss. G.?"

A trembling sigh fell from her mouth. "Soph, lemme speak to my uncle," she commanded.

"O-O-O-Okay, Miss G." A millisecond later, there was a flurry of muffled noises. In a very light and weak tone, Sophie's voice rang out. "D-Dauntless Leader Grant? It's Miss Grant on the phone."

"Hello, Nassy?" her uncle announced, a few seconds later.

"Y-Yeah… It's me, unc," she told him.

"Honey… You need to come home, right now," Xerxes reported.

Nasira slowly nodded her head. A strong ache began to throb inside of her chest. She deeply inhaled and exhaled. On the exhaled, she said, "Y'all came to a decision, didn't y'all?" into the mouthpiece.

"Yes, honey, we did…" There was a gravelly groan into the phone. "…At eight o' clock this morning, our deliberation had ended and Max had come to his decision by eleven o' clock. He sent me to pick you up."

Nasira's eyes widened while her level of shock washed away her sense of fear. 'WHAT?!' She looked down at her lap. "W-W-W-W-What…? Why-why? Why does he want me to be there?!" she asked in a shrilled whisper.

"I don't know why," her uncle told her. "I don't know why he wants you there."

'What… Sadistic,' her brain growled with distaste. "I can't come home right now, Unc. I am at work," she blurted out. Her right set of fingers ran through her stylized hair. She stared wildly at the carpeted floor. Her mind couldn't come up with a coherent and a plausible excuse for her uncle to report to Max. Her shock and her fear had stunted her logic from raising up. "I-I-I-I-I can't… I can't. I can't. I can't watch… I can't watch him die," she confessed.

"I know. I know, baby. But this is an order from our Dauntless Leader," said Xerxes, in a soft tone. "But you have to attend this execution, honey… Max's orders."

"I don't…" A soft and shaky sigh escaped her. "Want to go," she whimpered.

Xerxes sighed into the phone. "You have to."

Nasira reluctantly came to a level of resignation. She nodded her head. "I'm at The Mind," she explained. She hoped that her message was clear.

"Okay… Okay. I will, uh, meet you at your job," her uncle reported. "There's no point in you coming here, when you're already close to The Oculus." He paused for a few beats. "I'll meet you in the lobby… Okay?"

Nasira nodded her head, once again. "Mmm-hmm," she hummed into the mouthpiece.

There was a sympathetic sigh from the other line. "I'm sorry, honey."

* * *

'Oh God… Please-please-please…'

Her eyes stared at the small group of imposing men in black clothing, as they stood in the spacious lobby of The Mind. The soldiers managed to steal every passersby's attention, as well as, the attentions that belonged to the armed security staff. Each armed Dauntless soldier was on guard and surrounded her uncle as he stood in between both rows of soldiers.

The leader for the Dauntless' Defense Department stood in the center of the makeshift walls of bodyguards. He, also, kept an imposing stance as he surveyed the lobby and its inhabitants.

Nasira would've thought that her uncle would've looked even more fearsome, if he wasn't carrying the precious package in his arms.

"Mama! Mama-Mama-Mama-Mama!" Lucien shrieked from several yards away. His dark gray eyes were the first ones to spot her as she entered the main portion of the lobby. His left hand was raised in the air, aimed at her, while his appendage waved at her. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

Her shock and horrification hit her consciousness with the impact that was similar to a punch. A wave of vertigo-like symptoms touched her as she strolled into their direction. Her body grew frigid and numb just as the waves of light-headedness took effect. Her pace abruptly slowed, causing her stiletto-covered feet to stumble. Pressure filled up her ear canals and muffled every decibel of sound. No statements from her internal voice, just her basic instincts. One of those primal urges was telling her a distinct message.

For the first time in her life, this was the only time that she didn't want to see her son.


	5. Chapter Four: OCKKOOLUST

**Author's Note:**

*waves hand* Hey, y'all!

Okay... This chapter was a doozy to write and to type up on my laptop. This chapter is... _HEAVY_ , in every sense of the word. If you guys/gals thought that the last few chapters were tough... You haven't seen anything yet.

This story has one more chapter that needs to be posted. Hopefully, I will be able to post that last chapter before this weekend.

 **RATING:** **Rating 'M' for 'Mature'. NSFW. Strong adult content. Strong adult language. Graphic violence** (There's the **, for the people who don't want to read the violent part, so watch out for them).

 **WARNING:** This story is A/U and Non-Canon. 'Divergent' characters that are mentioned are OOC. No mentions of divergents/no war/no Abnegation massacre.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the 'Divergent Series'. Veronica Roth owns them. I am just renting them out, for the moment. Plus, I just own the OCs.

Please leave any reviews, if the spirit moves you to do so.

Thanks to all of the people that has left reviews, so far. Also, thank you to all of the people that made this story a 'favorite'.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Four: OCK... KOO... LUST**

 _"Justice must prevail even if the world must perish over it."_

* * *

"Nassy… I didn't want him here," announced Xerxes, as soon as she was within earshot. He raised his hands in effort to show his lack of malicious intentions.

"Why is my son here?" she said with thinly-veiled contempt. 'Max wanted him here,' her conscience informed her. Her cheeks grew hot just as her anger rose. It sliced through the fear and the sadness and took over. "Max," she groaned through her clenched teeth. She eyed her uncle. "Why does—

"Dauntless Leader Grant… Miss Grant… Follow me, please," an armed soldier kindly instructed.

Nasira turned away from her uncle and faced the two guards. She tightened her hold on her son and began to walk. She kept her vision on the two guards that were walking in front of her uncle and herself. She noticed the soldiers guide her out of the lobby and into a corridor that was facing the checkpoint station. She recognized that corridor as the one that led to the leadership wings.

"Max wanted him to be here, too," whispered Xerxes, an attempt to drive his point home. "I asked him to leave Lucien out of this, but he told me to bring him."

Her head snapped to the left and her eyes glared at her uncle. " _He wants my son to witness his own father's got-damned execution_!" she harshly whispered. She noticed that they were headed to the elevator bank, which led the way to the Catacombs. Her sight bounced off of the different sculptures and columns that took up space. "Why-in the-hell does he want to scare my son and possibly scar him for the rest of his life?" she wondered loudly, muttering under her breath.

"Mama…"

She glanced down at the toddler that she carried in her arms. He was staring up at her. He was happy and completely unaware of the impending situation, which made her heart break even more.

"…Mama…" Lucien proceeded to talk to his mother. His was babbling was animated and fast-paced. He received a kiss from her lips, on his left temple.

Nasira glanced at her uncle. "If my mom—My mom—Xerxes, _my mom_! She doesn't know—

" _She knows_ , Nassy," her uncle confirmed. "I had Trigger tell her, after I finished receiving the word _my-damn-self_ ," he informed her. He had taken a breather. "I've spoken to your brother since then. He can't be there for you, but he wanted me to tell you that he will be over to your place tomorrow. He also told me that Rogue is picking her up."

The idea of her mother being forced to watch Eric's execution touched her mind. Her eyes widened with alarm. "She-She won't…She won't see Eric be ex—

"No, she won't," answered Xerxes with a shake of his head. "Executions that occur in The Oculus are not open to the public. Only invited parties are allowed."

' _Invited parties_ … Who would want…' The notion that there was going to an audience in that death chamber, watching the final moments of Eric's life made her physically recoiled. Her blurred vision glanced at her uncle. "Who's going to be there?" she reluctantly asked, in a soft whimper.

Xerxes sighed. "Well for starters, every one of the Dauntless' leaders is going to be there, as well as, the leaders from the other factions. The Redeemer will be there, of course. And whoever else that Max personally invites. Um...I also think the victim's parents and some of his family members are going to be there, ever since it is customary for these… _Types of things_."

Nasira numbly nodded her head. With her vision pointed straight ahead, she softly queried, "What's… What's… going to happen?"

"Do you want to know everything from the beginning to the end?" he asked. Once she nodded her head, he responded. "Well, people are going to socialize with each other like we're at a damn banquet and not at an execution, first of all. Once every guest has arrived, a clergyman, which usually is Father Carlyle from Amity, will announce the start of the… _Function_. He will have two altar boys with him. The boys are going to trace the room with incense while Father Carlyle will read a prayer from his Bible. Prior to the execution, the old clergy will visit the prisoner and ask him if he wants his Last Rites read to him. Once the prayer is over… And the altar boys stop with the incense… The Redeemer comes out with his small party of people that comprises of his assistant, a doctor and a nurse. Then the prison guards will bring the prisoner out. He will be _escorted_ to the center of the room..." Xerxes paused. "A lot of times… They aren't cooperative. They struggle. They cry and beg and plea. Some of them try to fight the guards and escape. Those are the ones that are never pretty. The Redeemer asks the prisoner if he wants to say anything to anybody. Most just cry and beg for mercy. There are some that will tell us which body part of theirs that we can suck or kiss. Those are the ones that doesn't stick with me, afterwards."

The Grants reached the elevator bank, along with the guards. As soon as they set foot in the small hallway, the pair of soldiers that stood in front of them, started to issue orders. Both the Dauntless faction leader and the mother was informed that they were going to ride in the same car as them while the other two soldiers were instructed to ride in another elevator. The group of four soldiers issued words of confirmation before they initiated the commands. After boarding a carriage and witnessing the doors sliding shut, Xerxes spoke again. "Nassy…I'm not gonna lie to you… Executions… Let's just say that if you want to close your eyes, then go right ahead."

His warning caused her heart to race. "Okay," she whimpered as her stinging eyes stared at the doors.

Xerxes' sigh filled up the cabin. "I've seen countless executions and I still not use to watching them," he confessed.

 ** _"_** ** _SUB…LEVEL…TWO!"_** the well-known, electronic voice announced, four minutes later. The carriage came to a smooth halt, three seconds later. Another six seconds passed before the doors pulled apart and revealed The Catacombs. They were greeted by more armed, Dauntless soldiers. The men were staring at the elevator and its occupants.

"Alright, ma'am… Dauntless Leader Grant… Please, follow me," the guard ordered, from over his right shoulder. He turned his gaze straight ahead and stepped off of the elevator with his partner.

Nasira and Xerxes climbed off of the elevator and followed the pair of soldiers. As they walked, the wall of armed guards dispersed and allowed the foursome passage into The Mind's cellar. Each soldier gave Xerxes a simple head nod and a subtle greeting, which each gesture was given a civil reply.

"Caa-Are!" shrieked Lucien as his left index finger pointed in front of him.

Nasira stared down at her son. "What, baby boy?"

His eyes stared into her own and then he returned his stare to the object of his interest. "Caa-Are!" he shrieked, once more.

She aimed her gaze in the same direction in which his finger was pointing. Her eyesight was filled with the image of an electric buggy.

"Caa-Are!" he announced again before giggling.

"Yes, baby, it's a car," she told him, sweetly.

"Caa-Are!" he giggled.

Once the trio approached the small vehicle, they slipped into the buggy. Both Xerxes and Nasira settled into the rear of the cart. The mother placed her son onto her lap. Lucien, still in his happy and animated state, pointed to random features that were inside of the vehicle. His hands tried to clasp onto the poles of the vehicle. With a soft grasp on his probing hand, she stopped him. She placed the back of his hand to her lips. Her eyes softly closed. 'I'm so sorry, Luke. I'm so sorry that you have to be here,' she thought as she released his hand. A second later, the sounds from a powered up engine filled the corridor. The cart began to softly vibrate.

"Caa-Are!" Lucien announced as he pointed to the seat that was in front of him

"Yes son…" Xerxes battle-hardened fingers found their way into Luke's hair, where he gave the boy a through rub. "…This is a car," he pointed out.

Lucien eyed Xerxes. "Caa-Are!" he told the older man. He proceeded to speak to his great-uncle, animatedly.

The car began to move. As the wheels began to turn, Nasira glanced behind her, at the elevator bank. A strong sense of foreboding touched her spirit as she viewed the scene. She stared in that direction until she felt a firm hand on her left shoulder. She faced forward. Her arms embraced her son and she buried her face in his hair. She felt a consoling hand on her back. She bit into her bottom lip to keep her cries as silent as possible.

"We're here," Xerxes solemnly announced, forty-nine minutes later.

Watery and slightly swollen eyes lifted their vision away from the mop of coils that covered Lucien's scalp. She looked forward and surveyed the area. Then she realized that she was in a section of The Catacombs that she was unfamiliar with.

"Let's go…"

"Ma…"

"…Nassy," Xerxes told her.

"…ma."

Nasira glimpsed at her son. "Baby boy, Lukie-bear…" Her son glanced at her. "…do you want to walk?" She watched the boy nod his head. His little fat hand reached out and touched her left cheek. He attempted to wipe her cheeks free from the spilled tears. She was touched by his endearing act. She smiled at him. "Thank you, baby." He giggled. Still smiling, she glared at Xerxes. "Can you help me with Luke, please?"

"Sure," the Dauntless leader murmured.

She peeled Lucien off of her lap and she kindly instructed her toddler to go to his great-uncle. She watched the boy quick-stepped over to Xerxes, giggling all the way. She climbed out of the cart and stood by the vehicle. She stretched out her legs and arms.

"Ma'am. Sir. Follow me, please," the escorting soldier announced.

The mother walked around the rear of the vehicle and then around to the side, where she joined her uncle and her son. She took a hold of her son's left hand and began to follow the armed soldier. The trio was taken to the elevator bank, the sole source of entryway into The Oculus. Her sight took in the elaborate-designed, alcove. The walls were made from black marble and gold crown molding. The pair of two elevators were adorned with gold doors. The posts and lintel gold posts were encased with the same treatment. Each lintel carried a gold figurehead of a snarling gargoyles. The guiding soldier requested for an elevator.

"Caa-Are?" Lucien asked as he pointed to the gold doors that belonged to the elevator.

"No, honey…" she said softly. She watched his gray eyes stare at her. "…that's an elevator," she corrected him.

His little brow wrinkled with confusion. "Caa-Are?"

Rather than correct him again, she nodded her head and smiled. "Yes honey, it is a car."

 _ **"POING! SUB...LEVEL...TWO!"**_

The doors slid open to reveal the interior of the carriage.

"Ooooooh," she heard Lucien swoon. "Pree-tttt-eee!" He tugged on his mother's hand, encouraging her to walk with him. "Ma…Ma!"

Her eyes widened at the sight of the bright red interior. She glimpsed at her son and detected his enthusiasm. He was completely unaware of the horror that was he was about to witness. She knew that Lucien was still too young to fully mentally embrace this impending event, but she knew that this moment was going to serve as a reminder of just how innocence could be easily taken. With a sadness that even her son's enthusiasm couldn't get rid of, she climbed onto the elevator. Xerxes and two soldiers entered, seconds later. She had taken a visual tour of the small chamber. The walls were covered in a red wallpaper while the floor held a thin-yet-plush, red carpet. There was a grouping of scents lingering in the air, which told the mother that there were other spectators, waiting.

The doors closed and she felt her fear clench her spirit. 'This is it. This is it,' her brain cried. A chill clung to her skin and left her with a trembling body.

In her mind, she was blasted with moving images of that ghoulish nightmare. Eric's nude corpse was laying face-down in a landfill. His body was dirty and bruised while his limbs were grotesquely arranged. Her ears were flooded with her screams. Her skin was coated by the heat that was provided from the sun, while she kept becoming blinded by that same offensive beast that was in the sky. Her feet attempted to trudge through the sea of garbage, but she kept getting stuck and she was pulled down. She screamed and screamed for his—

 ** _"_** ** _THIRD… FLOOR… OCK-KOO-LUST!"_** the elevator's voice announced, interrupting her troublesome thoughts. Four seconds later, there was another smooth and effortless halt in their travel.

Nasira's eyes glanced at every other occupant before she stared at the doors. 'Oh my God...OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod…' She helplessly watched the doors slide open to reveal the gateway to The Oculus. She was struck by another strong wave of vertigo. If it wasn't for her son's presence, she was sure that she would've collapsed.

"Ma'am?"

"Nassy?"

Her uncle's voice pulled her from out of her thoughts. She glanced at Xerxes. "Mmm?" she hummed.

"You have to get off of the elevator, honey," he told her.

Nasira peered out of the elevator and into the long corridor. Her fear spiked as she stared at the foreboding space. She made reluctant steps out of the carriage, into the icy-cold hallway. Her sight took in the dimly-lit corridor with its black stone-paved walls and flooring. Massive Iconic order columns aligned the walls, along with gold sconces which sprouted off orange flames. There was an armed soldier posted in front of each column. Her eyes spotted the large archway entrance at the end of the corridor. Light was pouring from of the semi-circular entrance. It was the entryway to The Oculus, also known as 'The Eye of God', the death chamber.

"Ma…Ma," whined Lucien.

The alarm in his voice caused Nasira to look at her son. The boy's sneaker-clad feet ran into her direction, filling up the space that was between them. The toddler grabbed onto her left calf and squeezed onto her. His face held a mask of fear as he stared at her.

"Ma…Ma," he whimpered.

'The hallway…It's too dark for him,' her conscience recalled. She reached down and picked up her son. As soon as he was secured in her arms, she began to mutter words of comfort into his hair. "…It's okay, Lukie-bear. No one is going to hurt you…"

The escorting soldier walked pass her and once again took the lead. "Follow me, please," he ordered without giving each Grant a stare.

Her eyes glimpsed at the soldier's back before she glanced down at her son. She took note of his hair, his gray eyes, the deep dimples that were in his cheeks and the way his left eyebrow occasionally twitched. All of those features were the ones that he inherited from his father. She squeezed him. A warm hand gave her a consoling pat on the left shoulder.

"Come on, sweetie," ordered Xerxes. He walked away.

She watched her uncle's retreating form for a few seconds before she glanced at her son. "You're the best thing that came from him…"

Lucien stared at his mother.

"…Remember that, Lukie-bear." She proceeded to walk down to cold and imposing corridor, to head into The Oculus. She looked away from her son. "When you're older... People are going to lie to you about your father, Luke." She listened to the sharp echoes that her stiletto heels created as they stepped across the floor. "People are going to tell you that your father was a murderer…" Her eyesight took in the walls' décor. The murals of men fighting. "…A mad dog that slaughtered without remorse…" The murals in which men lain, dying. "…A heartless bastard." Her eyes stared straight ahead, at the archway. She noticed the words that were etched above the curved entrance. They were carved into the stone. "Your father, _really_ … He was misunderstood. He was a man that grew cold because of his circumstances."

They drew closer to the archway. The words became visible and coherent.

 _"_ _Fiat Justitia, pereat mundus."_

She quietly read the Latin words before her lips spewed out their English translation. "Justice must prevail even if the world must perish over it," she murmured. She glanced at her son. "He loved you, Luke." Then she looked straight ahead at the archway, a few seconds before she slipped under it.

Warmth and a thick veil of scented smoke struck her as she entered the longest threshold that she has under gone through. Her eyes stared straight ahead and she was greeted by bright light that she knew that could only come from sunlight. She continued to walk. The blinding light faded to a tolerable condition as she entered The Oculus. Her eyes widened with surprise as she took in the view.

'Oh…Oh my God,' her brain gasped with surprise.

The Oculus wasn't the cement-paved basement that she always believed it was. It was something that she never would've thought was located in Dauntless. It was far more majestic and ethereal than she ever imagined. The cavernous, amphitheater-like structure was too perfect and refined for the faction of warriors. It was too clean and delicate-looking, with its black granite flooring, columns and walls. She temporarily forgot about the chamber's purpose as her eyes greedily took in the room's features. She eyed the gold crown molding that lined the walls, doorways and the columns. Gold borders also framed the granite barricades that separated the rows of seats in the spectators' section. The imposing stage that was placed in the center of the floor caught her attention. Like the flooring's design, the stage was made from granite and was built on a platform that carried stairs, which wrapped around the stage. But, it was The Eye of God that seemed to have stolen her focus and greedily hold onto it.

"Nassy."

"Mmmm…" she numbly hummed as she kept most of her attention on the large, domed sky-light.

"I'm gonna go and speak to Max and the other leaders."

She softly nodded her head. "Mmm-hmm… Okay," she told him.

"Are you—

"Yes, sir," she muttered as she gave a quick glimpse at her uncle.

"Oh...kay," the Defense Leader mumbled, before silently departing from her side.

Nasira was alone for close to a minute before she was interrupted again.

"Ma'am…"

Nasira felt heated and rough skin on her left bicep. The action managed to remove the spell that The Oculus had placed her under. Her dark brown eyes focused on the new source that caught her attention. Her sight landed on a soldier, who stood a few inches beside her.

"…Please, follow me," the soldier instructed her.

"Oh, okay," she murmured.

The hand released her bicep before the soldier walked away. As she walked, she realized that the chamber was filled with many voices. Her eyes finally took in the other presences that were occupying the amphitheater. They were all gathered in the spectator's stands that were on the opposite of the room. Her sight picked up people, adorned in array of colors. It reminded her of those Banquet Dinners. She came across familiar faces, which comprised of people that she knew on a personal level or from photos that were inside of the Candor-issued newspapers. Xerxes was correct: there were leaders from the five factions present. They were all engaged in interactions, with the exception of one Abnegation leader. He was posted in an empty corner of a row of seats. She knew of him. 'Marcus,' her brain informed her. He was standing and had his back facing the stage. He was staring towards the back of the rows of seats, to the wall. She followed his eyes' path and she landed on its mark. 'Four…Why—

"Ma'am, please follow me," she heard the soldier announced again.

"Mmm?" she hummed as she turned to face the officer. She stared at the soldier and noticed that he was staring at her. There was a warm and kind energy in his eyes. It was the kind of warmth that was usually found in Amity people.

"Ma'am… You stopped walking," the soldier told her.

'What?' her brain groaned. She glanced down at her feet and noticed that she was indeed stationary.

"You were looking at the leaders, ma'am, and you stopped walking."

Nasira eyed the soldier. "Oh," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Please… Follow me."

She gave him a gentle head nod to go along with her willingness. She followed the officer as he escorted her to her designated spot. As she walked, her sight kept dancing across the room and landed into the sea of people that were located on that side. It was during this time, her sight landed on Max. A hearty groan of disgust escaped her throat while her eyes narrowed. She watched the leader interact with the dignitaries and the politicians. He possessed a jovial, yet, professional attitude. 'He looks like he is at fucking Town Hall meeting than at an execution,' her brain growled. Her level of distaste for the alpha regent leader, grew.

"Here you go, ma'am…" the guide announced.

She glanced at the guard. She noticed that he stood in a particular spot, a few feet ahead. She joined him.

"…Please, wait here. I'll go and get you a chair," the soldier informed her.

"Thank you, Sir," the mother said to his retreating back.

Nasira observed the occupants of the death chamber. Her eyes caught the sights of blue, gray, red, the combinations of black and white, as well as, orange. 'It looks like Max had invited a shit-load of people.' Her eyesight drifted to the back rows and she spotted more familiar faces. There was Four, who she spotted earlier. Standing next to the trainer, was that the short-statured woman that he was with. Nasira couldn't remember the young woman's name, but she knew that the teen was initiated not too long ago. Beside her, there were the Pedrad brothers, Zeke and Uriah. Before she could spot the next person, she came to the conclusion that Max must've invited the trainers to witness the execution. 'How fucking sic—

Her sight landed on a familiar face, which caused her thought to die inside of her head. She observed the woman's grief-stricken face as she cried. Her attractive facial features were contorted and covered in tears. Her eyes were focused on the stage while her hands were focused on the round bulge that was in front of her. When her mind finally began working, there was the simple 'Mathilda'.

Seeing Eric's cousin reminded the mother of this event's purpose and about the other people who were going to be affected by his death. Mathilda's current state also caused her grief to spring forward again. With stinging eyes, she looked away and found solace with staring at Lucien's hair. She bit down on the insides of her lips, in order to keep her sobs to herself. Her body emitted tiny tremors as she cried and held onto her son. Minutes ending up ticking by. In her peripheral, she spotted a roving black shape approach. She didn't perform a full-on gaze in the soldier's direction. She didn't want her current state to be exposed.

"Okay, ma'am, here is…" the kind soldier announced.

Her hearing picked up the sound of the heavy wood touching the stone floor. Smooth, cold wood nudged the backs of her knees.

"…your chair. You can have a seat now," the soldier declared.

"Thank you," she whimpered as she blindly taken the seat. As soon as her butt touched down on the smooth, curved-out wood, she felt her feet and calves unleashed cries of relief. Her biceps twitched with gratification.

"You're welcome, ma'am," she heard the soldier say before he walked away.

'Control yourself,' her conscience told her. 'You're in Dauntless… You're a Grant! You're a part of the family with the scariest son-of a-guns! Calm down and wipe your face!'

Nasira sniffled and had her trembling right hand touch her tear-soaked cheeks. Her fingers and the heel of her palm attempted to steal away every sign of sorrow. Skin hastily scraped against skin as she tried to dry her cheeks. Meanwhile, her eyes kept producing fat, hot tears.

'Stop this! Stop it!' her brain groaned. 'Don't make Lucien upset!'

She attempted to calm herself down. She closed her eyes and frantically breathed. Her shoulders and chest brusquely heaved as she took in gulps of oxygen. She tried to will the overwhelming amount of devastation away.

"Here."

A hand tapped her right shoulder and her sight was welcomed with the scene of waving, white tissue in a clutching hand. Her eyes stared at the slightly-tanned appendage that was orchestrating the movement. Then she aimed her gaze at the wrist and the arm that was attached. Her sight took her to its final destination, which was the owner's face. Her mild sense of surprise caused her eyes to widen.

"Hi!" chirped a cheerful Lucien.

Her eyes glimpsed at her son before she stared at Four again. She caught the usually-stoic trainer gazing down at the toddler. She saw the lukewarm, tight-lipped smile on his mouth. Her sight glimpsed at the tissue as she took it from his fingers. "Thank you," she whimpered before she dried her cheeks.

"You're welcome."

"Hi!" repeated Lucien.

Nasira eyed her son. He continued to sit on her lap and now he stared at the trainer. His face possessed a toothy smile. A glimmer of joy touched her spirit as she gazed at the boy.

"Hi," Four announced. His tone was neutral as if he was speaking to a colleague and not a toddler.

"So…How are you feeling?" the trainer queried.

The inquiry caused the mother to stare at the trainer with a bewildered energy burning in her eyes.

A look of mild embarrassment fell upon his face. "Sorry. It was an inappropriate question," he openly admitted.

Lucien babbled to the trainer. Both adults glanced down at the toddler.

"Why is he here?" asked Four as he continued to eye the child.

She heard the levels of disgust and the righteous anger in his tone of voice. She gazed at the man. "Max told me to…" Her voice trailed off. She watched the expression of disgust cross his face. His reaction gave her a sense of emotional support. "Max want—

"Jesus… Christ!" he harshly muttered. He ran a perusing hand on his face. He glanced behind Nasira, at the empty stands. "Why would he want a child to witness an execution?" He glimpsed down at Nasira before slipping into a squatting position. His left hand grabbed the armrest. He kept his gaze on the grieving mother. "Why does he want him here? Doesn't he know what—

"If I had to guess…" She took a deep breath. "He wants Eric to suffer as he is being put to de-de-de-duh-duh…" She snapped her mouth shut. The stuttering came to a halt. She couldn't say the word.

The trainer scoffed. "Well, he plans on having Eric killed. I don't think there's nothing worse than that."

Lucien drawn their attention to him, when his right hand touched Four's clasping left fingers. The boy began to babble to the man as his hand continuously slap at Four's hand.

"Luke…" Nasira placed a chastising hold on his small hand. She graced her son with a scolding glare. "…stop."

The baby looked at her with confusion on his face.

She shook her head. "No… _Hitting_ ," she softly chastised. She received a scowl and a pout from him, in response.

"I see that he even has a temper tantrum like Eric," Four pointed out.

Nasira gave the trainer a smirk. "Very funny, _Numbers_ ," she grumbled.

Four gave her a small smile and stood upright. He performed a slow and deep exhale. The smile disappeared and a look of remorse took its place. "I'm… I'm sorry, Nasira," he said softly.

Hearing the admission of remorse caused her throat to constrict and a throbbing in her chest to erupt. She nodded her head. "Thank you for your condolences" Her fingers brought the balled up tissue to her cheeks, collecting the tears that were there.

"Eric and I…" Four glanced at the stage. "…We were in the same class. I was first and he was in second place. He wanted the leadership role more than I did. I would never admit this to anybody. But… Uh…" He made a very audible inhaled before saying, "The role and the responsibility had gone to the better man..." He gave Lucien a glimpse. "Eric, despite being an asshole, was a good leader. He took care of the initiates… In his own _'_ _grumpy, old man'_ kind of way."

Nasira scanned the other side of the majestic chamber. Her sight glanced at the other spectators that took up space in the arching stands. Her eyes surveyed the guards that patrolled the entire amphitheater-like structure. Soldiers in black mingled with the bodyguards that were dressed in blue. Her eyes became fixated on the etchings that were carved on the walls. "He was using Wept," she confessed.

"I know..."

'Wha-What?' Her eyes focused on the trainer. Her jaw became slacked. Her bottom lip trembled a few times before she proceeded to release a stammer. "Wha-What? H-How did...? You..W-W-Why didn't you-

"When I saw him on that morning, before he…" A sharp exhale came from his nostrils. "I saw his eyes. I know about the symptoms. I told him to go home and to let me watch over the festivities that was about to go on, for that day. I offered to watch over them. He ended up snapping at me. Told me to mind my business…" Four paused as he looked to the floor. "I was planning on telling Max about his drug use. I had gone to his office to talk to him about the drug use... When it… _Happened_. If I knew that those kids were in any form of danger, I would've waited. But I thought… I left them in Anissa's…"

Hearing the conniving woman's name caused Nasira's anger to brew. She rolled her eyes and her head unintentionally lolled to the side. She eyed the stands. ' _That bitch_ allowed it to happened.'

"She saw it happen," Nasira told him, with her lips pursed and a subtle grimace in her brow.

"…hands, so I—What?" uttered Four.

"She saw it and allowed it to happen," she explained.

"That's speculation, Nasira... Why do you think—

"I was told by a source that Eric initiated that fight with that kid because he caught Fix flirting with her. There were two adults and one kid involved in that situation, Four." She gazed at the trainer. "One of those adults was hopped-up on drugs and the kid was too busy with smelling himself and stroking his ego, which is typical for teenagers. _For children,_ Four. So, it was _up to her... for Anissa,_ to de-escalate the situation. She chose not to." Nasira stared at the domed, glass ceiling. "She and her demonic-self took pleasure from it. She probably loved the fact that those two were fighting over her." She looked at Four. "Where was she when all of this happened?"

Four glanced at her. "She, uh, claimed that she stepped out of the room because she received a call from the clinic."

"Did _you_ verify that? Or did _anyone else_ verify that?" she asked as she eyed the crop of curls that covered the back of Lucien's head.

"Where are you going with this, Nasira?"

"She was…" Her fingers sifted through the shiny curls. "…in the room, Four. That's where I am going with this. She watched Eric crack that boy's skull open like it was a walnut. The sociopath probably got off on it."

"Why do you believe that?"

"It wouldn't be her first time…" Her right thumb became erect. "…The first time it happened, it occurred in the leaders' wing..." She gave the trainer a glimpse. "I'm sure that you remember _that one._ She didn't call for security. She stuck her narrow-ass in a safe space and _she watched_. The second incident—

" _The second incident?_ " murmured Four.

"Yes. It happened at Club Inferno—

"Weeper Central," he muttered.

"He and his friend created a brawl in the club. Once again, she found a safe spot and watched. That girl…" Nasira grumbled. "She's a danger for men with a pulse."

"I see your point, Nasira. But _she didn't force_ Eric to fight those men. Sure, she planted the seed in his mind… _But he allowed it to grow_ ," Four pointed out.

'True,' her conscience agreed. She looked away from Four.

"Lemme head back," the trainer announced.

She glanced at him just as he extended her right hand.

"I'm sorry… _Once again._ "

Nasira took his hand and shook it. "Thanks."

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me."

"Okay," she murmured.

Both hands released their embrace. The usually-stoic trainer gave Nasira one final glance before he casually strolled away from the mother and the son.

"Bye-bye!" chirped Lucien. His cheerful voice echoed inside of the cavernous, death chamber.

A sliver of surprise struck the mother. It managed to cut through the fog of fear and sadness. This was a new word for him. It was one that she was trying to teach him for the past couple of months. She eyed her son's back as he stared at Four's retreating form. In her peripheral view, she watched the trainer come to a halt and slightly turn his waist, so he could face in her direction.

"Bye-bye!" the toddler giggled with his left hand clumsily waving at Four.

Her full sight took in the trainer as he performed a subtle hand wave to Lucien. She felt his sense of awkwardness run off of him, which told her about his inexperience with interacting with children. His mannerisms also reminded Nasira of another Dauntless male. '…Eric…' she quietly said to herself.

Her mind began to drown with memories that were created on Lucien's first birthday. She recalled the how the sun's rays poured into her living room, brightening the spacious room as well as their moods. There was the barrage of Lucien's high-pitched giggles and ecstatic shrieks. The walls were painted with the pitter-pattering sounds of his feet as he ran around the leather sectional. The flashes of light brown, curly hair and of black clothing that repetitively circled around the furniture.

"Where are you?!" growled Eric as he crawled across the floor, in front of the sofa section. The living room was filled with more toddler-sized laughter, in response. "Where are you?!" he growled again.

Laughter mixed up with the sounds of Lucien's bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. He ran around the chaise lounge and he traveled to the back of the couch.

Eric crawled to the center of the couch's front. A series of comical snorts fell from the leader as snarls came from slightly-hunched body. There was more laughter, which came from the back of the couch. "Where are you?" he growled.

The boy responded by running from the side of the sectional. His face was tear-streaked and flushed with redness. Hysterical laughter came from his mouth. He peered over the couch's arm and looked at his father.

Eric grunted and stared at the floor. "Where are you?" he bellowed. Laughter filled the air. The leader managed to turn his body around in the limited space. He eyed the tuft of hair that was sticking out from the armrest. "There you are!" he growled, with triumph laced in his voice.

Lucien shrieked and then proceeded to run away. He departed from his hiding space and ran in her direction. Giggles shot out of his mouth as he ran.

"Come here!"

An obscured shape that was stuck in her peripheral view, grew tall. Its energy drew closer to her. Her eyes watched bare, hair-covered arms wrapped around Lucien's moving form and pic—

"We have prayed…"

Nasira was snatched out of her maladaptive daydream by a strong, masculine voice. It carried a load of authority, but there was a sense of calmness.

"…for repentance, but for those prayer…"

Her dark brown eyes took in the towering man's presence as he stood in the center of the granite stage. He slowly spun as he read from the handheld, paperback book that he held in his hands. He turned to face the spectators.

"…have gone unanswered….Now…"

For the Dauntless mother, it was as if he appeared out of thin air. Based off of the red and white gingham-printed, dress shirt and the rugged-looking denim jeans, she quietly assessed that he was from Amity. He definitely possessed the typical Amity man's build despite being an older man. His body held a dense girth that only came from decades of manual labor. His skin held a reddish tint, which was a sign that he stayed underneath the sun's rays. His hands appeared to be a dapper-version of being rugged, at the moment. From where she sat, she saw his callouses and barely-healed scratches on his long fingers. There was a cloud of white, wavy hair surrounding his head with the exception of the bald spot that was at the crown of his head. The hair that covered the sides of his head connected to his sideburns and to his beard. A pair of oversized, black wire-rimmed eyeglasses decorated his face.

"…as much as it grieves us to do so…"

Nasira became another spectator for the event that was unfolding right in front of her. The preacher glanced down at the contents of his book as his feet turned him to face her. His eyes peeled away from the book and focused on her.

"…we pray for Judgment in this situation…" the clergyman recited.

"Hi!" Lucien suddenly chirped. He raised his left hand in the air and waved at the man.

Nasira immediately took a hold of her son's waving hand and brought it close to his tiny body. She brought her lips to his right ear. "Sshhh…" she gently shushed into his ear. "…Luke, you gotta keep quiet, baby," she softly corrected him. Dark gray eyes focused on her eyes. She provided her son with a weak smile. "Ssshhh…" she enunciated with her right index finger pressed to her lips. "…okay?"

The toddler giggled and drew his tiny, chubby left index finger to his smiling lips. "Shooo-poo!" his lips formed, before he dissolved into giggles.

"Yeah… That's it, Lukie. That's it."

She lifted her eyes and his attention away from her son. She returned her focus to the preacher. Her vision landed on a pair of dark-colored eyes, which were staring intently at Lucien and herself. There was a small grin on his lips. His left set of fingers peeked from over the book's horizon and presented a wave to Lucien. His eyes flickered down to the book that he was holding.

The toddler lowly chuckled and glanced at his mother from over his shoulder. The top of his head received a caress from her right hand.

"…We know that You know the end from the beginning…"

Movement danced in the corners of her eyes, which caused her to toss her full attention on the object. Turned out to be the two altar boys that her uncle had told her about. They were dressed like typical Amity, adolescent boys with their blue denim jeans and buttoned-down, dress shirts. They stood in front of a table that was positioned next to a pair of closed doors. She detected their hands' actions as they filled two, silver cantaloupe-sized lanterns with unknown substances.

"…. If it is time for Judgment…"

She peeled her visual attention away from the altar boys and she focused on the crowd of seated spectators that sat directly in front of her, from across the stage. She was immediately greeted with the knowledge of the specific seating arrangement that was in the stands. The factions' leaders, dignitaries and their entourage members were sitting in the rows that were in the middle while they were surrounded by Dauntless civilians. The trainers lined up the highest row of seats.

One particular trainer caught her eyes' attention. Four sat in his chair with his arms folded across his broad chest and with a relaxed posture. His own gaze was locked on her and her son. His eyes held softness to them. She recognized the look as being one of pity.

"…If, however, there is still room…"

Her sense of smell picked a thick and smoky fragrance in the air. It reminded her of incense with a strong, woodsy scent. More movement penetrated the peripheral bubble, so she turned her attention into the direction of where it hailed from. She came across the pair of altar boys. With a slow speed in their steps, they walked around the stage. They kept their eyes staring at the path that was ahead of them. Each boy held a silver chain in their hands. On the end of each chain was the same lanterns that she spotted before. 'Thuribles,' her brain reminded her. Streams of smoke escaped from each lantern as it swung through the air, in some form of choreography.

"… we ask that You grant a space for that repentance…"

Her eyes were drawn back to the stands, where Eric's cousin, Mathilda was stationed. She was now seated, but she still kept her hands on her stomach's sphere. She still kept her teary glare focused on the stage. A tissue-wrapped finger occasionally reached up to her face and dabbed away tears.

"… Either way, God, let us trust You in all things…" The preacher stared at the factions' leader-inhabited crowd. "… Amen."

A strong and steady "Amen" from the audience, followed.

"Ooooh-ooh!" she heard Lucien swoon.

She gazed at her son, who was in the process of pointing at an altar boy. She listened to the toddler enthusiastically babble as he watched the older boy spread the scented fumes into the atmosphere. Once the thurible had marked its presence in front of the mother and son, the toddler clapped his chubby hands and he giggled. He glanced over his right shoulder, to stare at his mother. He smiled and pointed at the Amity preacher. She mustered up a smile for her son. "Yes, baby," she gently spoken. She received a smile and he turned to face the stage. Nasira turned her attention away from her son and she resumed her responsibility as a spectator.

The altar boys finished out their routes with their metal censers by reaching the adjacent space that was from their starting point. The pair of boys made their exits out of The Oculus by walking through the arched threshold. Even in her state, she managed to find their exits to be odd. She looked away in time to see the preacher close his handheld Bible. He casually lifted his head up. His bespectacled gaze landed on Max. He kept his focus locked on the alpha regent for a few seconds before he abruptly and unemotionally turned away. His boot-clad feet led him to the edge of the stage, where he began to descend down the stairs. The sound of footsteps distracted her. She realized it had come from the stands. Her sight landed on the alpha regent for the Dauntless faction. He stood in front of the barricade that kept his section segregated.

"Before we could commence with our… Ceremony," the alpha regent leader started out with, as he eyed various people in The Oculus. "…I would like to thank the leaders from Erudite… Candor… Abnegation… And, from Amity… For coming to Dauntless… For this… _Occasion_ …"

There were murmurs of gratitude from the stands.

"For…" He paused. His eyes gazed down at his hands as they clenched the top of the granite barricade. "For… There…" His gaze proceeded to stare straight ahead. "…is but one essential justice which cements society, and one law which establishes this justice…"

Nasira felt his dead-eyed glower on her.

"…This law is right reason, which is the true rule of all commandments and prohibitions. Whoever neglects this law, whether written or unwritten, is necessarily unjust and wicked." Then, Max had fallen silent. The tail end of his statement echoed in the massive hall, bouncing off of the marble columns and the walls. During his silence, his feet performed a subtle rocking motion. His hands were drawn in front of his chest, where they rubbed their palms together. His eyes scanned the stands once more. "You know… This was once said by Marcus Tullius Acero. He was a Roman philosopher, as well as, once was a lawyer and a political theorist." He gruffly exhaled. "His words… His beliefs… They rang true today just as they did, back in 90… 93 B.C." He glanced at his hands. "We are here today because a law has been broken and unfortunately… The perpetrator is a dominant Dauntless leader… His victim was an initiate-turned-Dauntless member. A kid, whose flame was unfairly snuffed out before it could grow." He stepped away from the railing. "Retribution must be taken…" Max returned to his seat. "…and it will." His eyes flickered over to the location of the mysterious pair of black doors.

Nasira followed his visual trail and caught the sight of the clergyman. The elder, Amity man stood next to the doors. Then she glanced at the alpha regent. Max's dark eyes peered at the Amity preacher, who returned his own glare at the Dauntless leader. The two men held a multi-second stare-down with each other. The silent quarrel between the men made the tension that her body harbored, intensify. Her stomach involuntarily tightened as she was subjected to a violent churning. A strong chill licked at her skin's surface, causing goosebumps and her neck's hair to stand up. The mother's curiosity made her ponder about the men's relationship. 'What… Happened between those two? It's maybe about bad blood… Amity at an execution… Hell, I would be cranky, too, if I was him.'

The clergyman was the one who broke the visual connection between the two men. He turned his glare away and he focused on the table that was in front of him.

Twelve seconds later, the sounds of doors opening broke through the tension. Everyone's focus turned to the pair of black doors, including Nasira's own attention. Her sight landed on the dimly-lit, bit of a corridor that was on the other side of the threshold. She saw that this hallway's walls weren't as finesse as the corridor that led to The Oculus' archway. They were made from cinderblocks and held streaks of water and fungus. She didn't gaze at the hallway's poor condition for too long. The four people that exited that same hallway and entered the death chamber, managed to steal her attention, a few seconds later.

In two rows of two people walking abreast, three men and a woman entered The Oculus. The four mysterious figures were dressed in Dauntless black clothing. She watched the lone woman and two of the men walked over to the side of the stage, to the where the spectators were sitting. Only one man climbed the stairs and made it to the stage.

'What are they doing?' her brain questioned while her eyes still observed the small group with rapt interest. 'Who are they?'

Movement from the corner of her view caught her attention again. She eyed the lone figure that stood on the stage. 'Okay… Who's he?'

She swiftly assessed the stranger who stood on the stage. He stood in the center, with his back facing her and his attention on the crowd. He kept his forearms entwined together in a unique hold, behind his back. His posture was one that reeked of military training. However, his presence gave off the attitude of an Erudite; an Erudite that chose to transfer to the faction of warriors. He still managed to keep some of his possible-hometown's sensibilities, when it came to his personal style. He was dressed in Dauntless black, but his style was all-Erudite: a pair of dress slacks and a buttoned-down shirt that was tailored to his atypical, Dauntless stature. Polished, black wing-tips adorned his feet, which caused steep echoes with every step that he had taken. If compared to the average Dauntless male, he was too 'clean cut'. His body didn't hold any physical signs of tattoos or piercings. The short, yellow lighting bounced off of his carefully stylized hair, highlighting the smooth brown strands of his pompadour.

'…The Redeemer.'

The acknowledgement had struck her quicker than a flick of a light switch and harder than a punch from a prized fighter. Astonishment filled up her mind causing her to lose control of herself. Her jaw became slack just her eyes widened. She was subjected to a wave of numbness. It first nibbled at her fingertips before taking over the sensation that pooled into the rest of her hands. Soon, the unfeeling sensation ripped through her arms, shoulders and spread itself through her body.

'The Redeemer, the execut—Oh God!'

Shock-induced nausea grabbed a hold of her stomach. Her abdomen grew taut and the muscles convulsed, in response. Her throat felt constricted, making her breathing passages become faulty. A harsh, shuddering breath fell from her nostrils and gaping mouth. Trembling hands quickly released their hold on Lucien and was drawn to her face. Her mouth and nose were subjected to her shaking fingers' exploration. She tried to smother the whimpers and the gasps that came from her, as well as, tried to grasp the gravity of the impending event. Her blurred vision still watched the small group.

The men and the woman presented themselves in front of the spectators. After standing there for a minute, the small group performed a subtle bowing of their heads. A subtle greeting, which also served as a salute to the leaders and the dignitaries that were currently in the stands. A few milliseconds later, there was a wave of understated head nods from the leaders of the five factions and the other high-ranking officials. The two men and the woman, then, turned away from the stands and strolled across the chamber. They ended on the other side of the opulent-designed amphitheater, where the entryway of the disheveled corridor was located. A man and the woman approached a small gathering of medical equipment that was stored on the right side of the doorway. The other Dauntless male approached the table that once was used by the altar boys. He stood in front of the table's edge and he watched his hands work inside of a briefcase that was on the tabletop.

Nasira's tear-filled eyes turned to the stage and she aimed her gaze to the man that was going to be responsible for her impending case of devastation. His feet now created echoes as he performed a casual pacing across the smooth, stone surface. He stared down at his left, thick forearm while his right fingertips expertly rolled the sleeve up. He was soon joined by the man that was fiddling with the briefcase. The Redeemer advanced the stranger, whose hands and the interior of his forearms were holding up the opened briefcase. Both men exchanged low-volume words while the well-dressed executioner observed the brief case's contents. Her curiosity managed to compete with the terror. She greatly pondered about the contents that were stored inside of the case.

The unforgiving tune of echoing steps grabbed her attention and distracted the mother. The song was louder in her left ear canal, which alerted her of their location. Her vision landed on the entrance of the unknown corridor. The tune of hard rubber soles slapping against stone floors penetrated the atmosphere. The volume behind the steps greatened and became thunderous, as they drew closer to the entrance. By then, the doorway was the recipient of every spectator's attention. Everyone was awaiting for the next visitors to enter the chamber. The Oculus was filled with the eager guests' soft, wonder-filled whispers and murmurs of speculation. Tension, along with Nasira's anxiety, rose with each passing millisecond. She impassively viewed the dancing shadows that started to grow on the fungus-covered wall that was shown from her vantage point. Her brain grew numb as she was subjected to the sight of three men.

'Aaaa—' Her mind suddenly drew a blank while her fear managed to take voracious bites out of her spirit, causing the remnants of her courage to retreat.

Nasira felt her face envelope with a visible heat as her body was submerged in coldness. Her stomach became unsettled. The tightness that covered her esophagus became stronger, causing her to frantically swallow and attempt to combat the troubling occurrence. Her chest released consistent jolts as her heart raced. A family of hot tears decorated her cheeks and chin as she watched the trio of men enter The Oculus.

They strolled at the moderately-sped pace that was reserved for walks in parks and for weekend excursions in populated neighborhoods. Not for the walks that would lead to executions.

She noticed that Eric was in a different physical state than his previous stressful state. He was cleaned and was dressed in an emerald-colored, two-piece uniform. His feet was uncovered and bare. His auburn-colored hair managed to fill out the spaces of his scalp, which erased all traces of his well-known hairstyle. His cheeks, jaw and his chin was decorated with hair. His skin was still possessed a sickly shade of pale. The purple-splotches on his throat made his past struggles evident. His eyes still carried the signs of his drug use. The eyelids were subjected to the inflammation. The energy in his eyes was dull.

"Dada!" Lucien excitedly called out.

Blue-gray orbs, which were encased in swollen flesh, found her dark russet-eyed gaze. The casual stroll to his death was quickly forgotten. The leisure pace had evaporated and was withered down to a sharp halt.

Nasira, in her mind-numbing state, managed to forget about their son's presence.

"… Dada! Dada! Dada! Dada!" their son continued to happily shriek.

She watched the emotion of horror quickly mark the disgraced, Dauntless leader's bruised face. The swollen eyes grew wide just as his lips parted. She viewed his lips tremble like a fish. They flapped a few times before sound was able to escape. There was a stream of multi-syllabic stuttering, which had caused his son's mother to lose the last bit of composure that she possessed. Eric Coulter, the fearless and imposing Dauntless faction leader, was now that little boy that he confessed to being, at one point in his life. He was the person that Rafe used to protect from schoolyard bullies. He was the person that he fought hard to separate himself from.

"Dada!" Lucien pointed out. The toddler used his right index finger to point at his father. "Dada!" he giggled.

"Wha-wha-wha-what…?" he stammered. His blue-eyed gaze was ripped away from her and they focused on the rows of spectators that were staring at him with great interest. "… wha-wha-wha—Max!" he shouted into the stands.

Nasira's sight was thrown onto the man that held Eric's interest. The seated, alpha regent leader was glaring at the scene that was close to a yard away. His face was passive and held no emotion.

"M-M-Max! Max! What are they…?"

"Let's go," the accompanying soldier that stood on the battered leader's right side, announced. He drew close to Eric's stationary form and his hands reached out for the reluctant leader's bicep.

Eric reacted like a skittish, small animal. He retracted from the approaching soldier's grip. His alarmed eyes glowered at the offending soldier. "No! No!" He stared into the stands again. "No! No! No…" His feet forced the rest of his body to depart from his company. He didn't get far. The two soldiers swiftly caught up to him. They invaded his personal space. "…No-no-no…" he whimpered as his eyes frantically glimpsed at both soldiers. "…no-no-no-no-no…" Both pairs of gloved hands snatched up the frightful Eric's arms. "…no-no-no—No!" The imposing and brawny officers used their strength to pull Eric. Even in his weakened state, he was unable to stop them. His bare feet was lifted off of the marble floor and his body was propelled forward. His feet came crashing down, a second later, and made several clumsy steps towards the stage's stairs. "No! No!" His eyes peered into the stands again. "… Max! Max! Max! Please! Please! Don't make them… Don't make them…No! No! No, Max!" His mouth continued to expel pleas as his feet ran quick and clumsy steps ono the stairs. His body and the soldiers struggled and thrashed against each other.

Nasira watched Lucien's father struggle against the soldiers' grasps. The men kept a firm grip on Eric's arms as they led him to the raised stage. He gazed at the alpha regent leader with a thunderous glare, which she was sure of.

"Max, please! Don't make them…" he called out. "D-Don't make them see this! Max, please!" he begged his superior officer.

She glimpsed at her godfather and noticed that Eric's pleas didn't rouse any fringe of empathy from the leader.

"Max! Max! Please! Please, man, please! Please, don't do this in front of my boy! Puh—

A body-shuddering sob escaped from the outraged, leader. Several short cries followed.

"Please… Max… Please don't do this in front of him! Puh-leeezze…" His voice split apart into thick cries. "Maat…" he cried. "…Max, please… Ma—

His pleas were disrupted by a thunderous roar.

Nasira and Lucien flinched with unsuspecting fright at the ferocious sound. It filled up their ears' canals and battered their eardrums. A deep and steady vibration erupted underneath her feet and then spread into her body, where it attached itself onto her bones.

"Ma…" The last syllable from the toddler's call was swallowed up by the mysterious thunder.

Her arms felt the sudden shift a millisecond before her sight caught the image of her scared son changing his seating arrangement on her lap. The boy swung his legs off to the side and he slightly turned his upper body into her direction. His tiny hands pawed at her biceps while his frightened eyes gazed at her, pleading for her protection. Her arms pulled her son into her embrace and she cradled his tiny head in her hands.

There was movement coming from the stage. She peered at the stage in time to view a marble column sprout from the stage's floor. The column rose from the southern region of the stage, which ended up blocking the view of the double doors from her. An obscured, black shape pulled her attention away from the rising pillar and onto the two mysterious men that were standing a yard in front of her, on the stage. The briefcase possessor had his back presented to Nasira and Lucien while The Redeemer stood in front of him. As she tried to figure out the origin behind the two men's actions, the thunderous roar came to an end. Her focus returned to the stage's new addition. The pillar's angry roar left a bellowing echo and a ringing in her ears. She released her hold on Lucien's head and reached for her ears. She attempted to combat the ringing noise. As her fingertips pressed at ears' cartilage, she stared at Eric, who was now being pulled over to the pillar.

He was still screaming for mercy to the Dauntless' leader-in-charge. "Max! Max! Please… Please, don't—

"Come on," growled a soldier, making his level of irritation known.

Eric's thrashing body was subjected to several yanks and forceful prods, by the pair of soldiers. "M-Max! M-Max! Don't…." He released a guttural groan. His neck suddenly swiveled, bringing his face into her direction. Teary, cerulean orbs focused on her. "Nass… Cov… C-C-Cover his eyes! C-C-Cover… Them! Don't make him see! Don't make him see!" he pleaded with her.

She numbingly nodded her head as she gazed at him.

"Dada," Lucien called to him. He pointed to his father with his left index finger. "Dada."

"Cover his eyes! C-Cover them!" he sobbed, right before he was forced against the marble pillar. A hand was pressed into his back, in the sensitive spot that was in between his shoulder blades.

Several black blurs traveled to the stage's entrance. It began to make sense for the mother, when those black, figureless shapes became human beings. They were four men, who were dressed in the Dauntless military brand of clothing. They climbed onto the stage and traveled over to the pillar, where the two soldiers and Eric were standing.

"Okay…" she heard one officer announce after approaching the trio. The rest of his statement was spoken in a hushed tone and was addressed to the soldier that kept a hold on Eric's back. A few seconds later, he stepped away from Eric and the soldier. He walked around the soldier and stood on his opposite side.

The soldier that kept Eric pressed against the pillar, stared at his colleague. "Get his…" he muttered, a second later.

Nasira watched the soldier force Eric's right arm in the air and then force his hand, along with his wrist, into the unforgiving stone. A heart-wrenching groan came from his body, as a result. She flinched in her seat and a shudder crawled down her back. She viewed the glorified guards subject Eric to a mild case of smothering, when they surrounded him, a second later. There was a symphony that consisted of soldiers muttering, the rustling of metal and the shamed faction leader's occasional groans of pain. His wrist was a recipient of a metal, chain-linked manacle, three minutes later. Her sight followed the chain's path and she eventually learned where its final destination was being held. Her eyes took in the sight of a rusty, thick metal hook, which was deeply embedded into the pillar and a foot and half above Eric's head.

"…Get his other hand…" the soldier, who held onto Eric's back, softly instructed.

Once again, the symphony was roused up and began to waft through The Oculus' atmosphere. It had taken four minutes to have his left arm raised in the air and his wrist bound to the pillar. Each minute felt like an hour to Nasira as she continued to play the role of helpless spectator.

"Test the bonds, please," was declared a few seconds afterwards. The statement was formed by a nasal, soft and masculine voice.

The voice was unfamiliar for her, but it didn't stop her from assuming the identity of its owner. She watched a burly soldier take a hold of each chain and then ferociously yank. Her ears picked up Eric's hisses of discomfort.

"Good… Now… That's enough. G-Good-good-good-good... Thank you, Sir," the nasal-pitched voice expressed into the room, while issuing out a polite dismissal for the soldiers.

The investigating soldier stopped yanking on the metal links and he gave The Redeemer one final look for validation. Once he received it, he made his exit off of the stage. A few seconds after his exit, four other soldiers also accepted their instructions for dismissal.

The Oculus was subjected to a moment of uncomfortable silence. A drawn-out inhale cut disrupted the moment, a minute later.

"Please… His clothes," The Redeemer had spoken to the lone soldier.

'What?' her brain groaned. Her brow developed a deep crease and her eyes narrowed. Confusion settled into her spirit. 'This is… No… No, this is not normal,' she concluded. Her head subconsciously shook in disbelief. '…No.'

The soldier's left hand reached into a floppy pocket from off of his cargo pants. His fingers probed the interior for a few seconds before they pulled out an object. With a subtle twitch of his thumb, a retractable blade was ejected from its sleeve. He stepped further into the bound Eric's personal space and he grabbed a hold of the collar of his shirt. The blade's edge began to saw at the collar of the shirt. In a room where a whisper would be turned into a yell, the sounds of the serrated edge chewing away at the material, were amplified. Once the blade reached the middle of the shirt, the soldier used his hands to rip the fabric from off of the faction leader. He pawed the shirt's remnants and tossed the gathered up rag to the side. The pants were subjected the same treatment by the soldier's knife. Within three minutes, shredded rags were pooled at Eric's feet. The obedient soldier lowered to his right knee and gathered the discarded scraps. Once he removed the item and his presence, Eric's nude body was subjected for a viewing by The Oculus' invited guests.

It was at this moment when Nasira acknowledged the silence that permeated throughout the chamber. The silence, however, could not curb the fear that was burning inside of her. Her eyes took in the rows and rows of spectators. All of them had their eyes on the three major characters that were a part of this macabre and tragic play.

"N-N-N-Nasira."

Her eyesight landed on Eric, whose own sight was focused on her. She recognized the raw of layer of vulnerability that was etched on his face. His face was glossy with his spoiled sweat and spilt tears. She took note of his trembling body as he was pressed against the pillar.

"It-It's… Gonna be ok-k-k-k-kay," he declared. His face crumpled as fresh tears came spilling from his eyes. He inhaled a strong, shuddering breath and then he opened his eyes. "It's going to be…" His voice trailed off.

With steady streams of tears covering her cheeks and chin, she nodded her head. 'Even when he's… He… He's gonna…' Her brain wasn't able to finish her thought.

"You're gonna be okay," he repeated. "Your—

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-THRAP!"_**

The ferocious unfamiliar sound was loud and abrupt. Both mother and son flinched as their senses of fright struck them.

"Mama!" Lucien cried out as he pushed himself closer to his mother's body.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-THRAP!"_**

It had taken the second crackling sound for Nasira to recognize the origin that belonged to the noise. She realized that she had heard the sound countless of times, from various films. '…Bullwhip. Bullwhip… Oh God… It's a bullwhip! He's gonna get whipped! They're gonna whip him to death! They're…' Fear-fueled, imaginative images of Eric's mutilated nude body, laying in a landfill, flooded her brain. Detailed images of shredded flesh with the exposed, fatty tissue caused her nausea to become aroused. Her eyelids fluttered before drifting over her eyes just as her stomach groaned. 'Oh Gah—

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-THRAP!"_**

 **"** **NOOOO-NNNN-UGH! UGH!"** A blood-curdling scream penetrated the atmosphere. The hoarse cry expressed its owner's pain as it circulated through his nude body.

Nasira's eyes focused on the bare back that belonged to Eric. Three thin, red lines graced the pale flesh.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-THRAP!"_**

Her eyes caught the occurrence of the whip's leather tassels slapping against his flesh. She watched another trio of red lines rise to his skin's surface. His hoarse groan flooded her ears and caused her ear canals to vibrate.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

There was another crack from the whip and then there was another strike against his now-reddened skin. A few more red lines marked his back. There was another sound of pain from his lips.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

The same song was replayed again with Eric's pain-filled screams and the harsh sounds of the chains being violently yanked. Yet, another voice was added to this chilling melody.

 **"** **DADA!"** screamed Lucien as he eyed his father. His tiny arms were extended in front of him and his fingers reached for the bound man. **"** **DADA! DADA! DADA!"** He turned away from the grisly scene and stared at his crying mother. **"** **M-M-M-M-MAMA! M-M…"** His right hand repetitively slapped his mother's chest, an effort to encourage her to stop this. **"…** **M-M-M-MAMA! M-M…"**

A hoarse groan and then a series of ragged breathing escaped his mouth. He turned his head to his left. Blue eyes focused on the mother of his child. "N-N-Nnnnnn… Nass! Nass! Nass! Cov-cover his..."

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP! DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

Eric's mouth dropped open and a harsh-sounding groan fell through.

 **"** **DADA! DADA! DADA!"** screamed the crying child.

Nasira's maternal instincts to protect her child had taken over. Her hands grabbed her son's waist and he turned her son around on her lap. Two fists pressed into her ribs while turbulence affected her lap.

 **"** **NAH-OOOH! NAH-OOOH! DADA! DADA! NAH-OOOH!"** the toddler cried out.

"Luke! Lukie-Bear…" she cried as she grabbed her son's plump cheeks. She forced her son to stare at her. "…Lukie! Look at Mama, baby! Look! Look at me!" she pleaded with her son.

 **"** **KEEP HIM AWAY!"** Eric's hoarse voice pleaded.

Nasira heard Eric's demand. She unknowingly nodded her head in agreement. Her gaze was still on her baby. "…Luke! Lukie-bear! Keep looking…"

 **"** **NAH-OOOH! NAH-OOOH! DADA! NAH—**

 **"** **HOLD IT!"** Max's booming voice rang out.

Everything came to a standstill. However, Lucien's hysterical cries kept decorating the amphitheater. Nasira's eyes focused on the Dauntless alpha. She discovered his dark brown eyes were aimed on her and the toddler.

Max aimed his right index finger at her. **"** **TURN HIM AROUND!"** ordered the alpha regent officer.

'Wha… What? What?' her frazzled brain whimpered.

 **"** **TURN... HIM... AROUND!"** the leader repeated.

 **"** **M-M-MAX! N-N-NO! D-D-D-DON'T LET… HIM!"** screamed Eric. He turned his blue-eyed gaze onto Nasira. **"** **BABY… DON'T L-L-LET H-H-HIM SEE… SEE! CL-CLOSE YOUR—**

 **"** **DON'T YOU EVEN** ** _THINK_** **ABOUT CLOSING YOUR EYES, MISS GRANT!"** warned Max. **"** **IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT DISOBEYING ME, THEN YOU WILL JOIN HIM!"** the leader promised.

An invisible force collided with her chest. Pressure buried itself in the middle of her breasts, where it proceeded to make it difficult to breathe. Her watery gaze stared in horror at the man that she has known all of her life. When she glared into Max's eyes, she recognized not one bit of him. This man wasn't the same person that broke bread with her family during their holiday dinners and other family-oriented functions. He wasn't the same man that would give her bags of candy, when she was a child. This person was a stranger, a heartless and cruel stranger.

But, he was a heartless and cruel stranger that wielded control and power over her, as well as, every Dauntless member that was inside of that room. So... With great reluctance and with shame, she released her son's face and allowed Lucien to peer at his father. Her dark brown eyes glared at the alpha leader with the fire of hatred. 'Got-damn you, Max... Got-

 **"** **MAX… PLEASE, DON'T, MAN! P-P-PLEASE!"** begged Eric.

Eric's pleas were unanswered. Max glanced away. His right hand performed a half-hearted wave, a gesture for The Redeemer to resume. Then he walked back to his chair.

"Max! Max! Max, please! Please! Max, please, let—

His call was disrupted by the sound of his skin being struck by the multi-tasseled whip. A startling, hoarse wail fell from him. Before he could recover from the pain, he was subjected to another assault. Milliseconds later, there was a wave of horrified gasps and groans from the spectators.

Nasira viewed the thin streams of blood that lightly wept from his newly-conjured wound. Before she could fully survey the lacerations, another crack of the whip was made. Her vision saw two more bleeding marks on his back.

 **"** **DADA! DAD-D-D-D-D-D-D-D… A-A-A-A!"** the child wailed. His little arms reached for his father.

Eric unleashed a guttural groan. His face crumpled in pain. He peered over his left shoulder, at Lucien. "I'm okay," his trembling voice declared. A shuddering breath escaped from him. "I'm… Okay, buddy."

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

His grimace deepened. "Nnnnnn… **_GAH-AAWWDDD!"_** he cried out. Eric forced his eyes open. A series of hard breaths escaped from him. He gazed at his son. "I'm okay, Luke. Dad—

 **"** **DADA! DADA! DADA! NAH-OOOH! NA—**

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

A powerful and heart-thumping scream came from the toddler. His tiny hands covered his tear-soaked face. His tiny body rocked with every screaming sob that came from his mouth.

 ** _"_** Hold it!" Max shouted. He didn't remove himself from his chair, this time. But he did level an anger-tinged glower at Nasira. "Remove his hands from his face!"

Eric turned his focus onto Max. **"** ** _YOU FUCK!"_**

Murmurs that were filled with astonishment and amused-fringed surprise, came from the spectators.

A streams of cries came from the disgraced leader. "Just… Fucking kill me, already," he cried. "Just… Kill me. Just kill me. Just… Kill me. Just…" He ended up sobbing against the blood sprinkled pillar.

Max removed his gaze from off of Eric and he stared at Nasira. "Miss Grant… Remove your son's hands away from his face… Or Coulter will receive another eight lashes… to go along with the other eight that he just earned," he threatened.

'No! No! No! No!' she screamed in her head. Her head slightly bowed forward just as her right hand gripped her son's forearms. Her hand applied enough strength, so his hands would be pulled away from his face. A family of body-shaking sobs escaped from her and her head slowly shook.

"Miss Grant, open _your_ eyes. Or, he will get another sixteen lashes," ordered Max.

"B-Baby, keep your eyes closed," Eric asked of her. "It's okay," he whimpered. "It's okay. I'll—

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

A piercing shriek came from the toddler before his voice dissolved into cries. " **D-D-D-D-DADA! DA… DA…"** He proceeded to stammer.

A whining groan came from the bound leader. "Luke… Luke… Your dad is going to be oh—

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

Nasira eyed Eric's nude form as he was whipped again. The cat o' nine tails caused more flesh on his back to split open, as well as, caused two lines of blood to marked the buttocks' flesh. She listened to the restrained growl that escaped his mouth. Her eyes had gone back to eyeing the wounds that graced his back.

 ** _"_** ** _DURR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

A wave of gasps and whimpers filled the amphitheater as more of his flesh was easily split open like it was spoiled fruit. Blood decorated his neck, arms, buttocks and thighs. The marble that lain beneath his feet was a recipient as well.

 **"…** **nnnnnNNNNGGAHHHH!"** he cried out. His knees buckled and his height sagged.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

Her dark brown eyes filled with tears as she watched The Redeemer tear open Eric's back and flay the flesh, by using his whip. She continued to be subjected to the gruesome sounds of that whip as it cracked and sliced with the air. She had to listen to Eric's groans and screams, as well as, their son's hysterical crying. Both set of sounds made her feel helpless, scared and anger. Every bit of her mind, her heart and her spirit wanted to gather them up and then take them as far away from this wretched place. Her anger wanted this place to burn; burn until there was nothing left.

 ** _"_** ** _DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP! ...DURRR-DUR-THRAP!"_**

The flogging continued. As the beating progressed, more and more reactions were coming from the stands. Nasira listened to more gasps of disgust and horrified moans. Her eyes occasionally caught the sight of faction members turning their sights to the floor, to the ceiling or to the person that sat closest to them. A few women dabbed their watery eyes with their fingers as they stared at their feet. Some men attempted to put on brave and valiant faces as they watched Eric being flogged. But the twitches from their jaws and their minutes-long blinks gave them away, according to Nasira.

By the thirteenth lashing, Eric struggled to remain on his feet. His blood-covered feet stained the marble beneath them and it caused the soles to clumsily slide against the floor. The pain that ate away at his body also caused him to lose his balance. The faction leader was losing the little bit of strength that he possessed.

During the beating, Lucien's cries were unrelenting, but they've managed to lose their vocal strength. His voice had gone from strong to hoarse. "Dada…" the toddler cried with a weakened and hoarse tone. "...Dada..." A series of sputtering came from his mouth which quickly turned into coughing. He tiny body shook with each cough. He dropped his hands and arms, so he could brace with the occurrence. Once the coughing fit died down, Lucien proceeded to cry. "Dada... Dada... Dada... Da-

The call wasn't completed.

The weight that was on her lap abruptly disappeared. Her eyes caught the sight of the toddler leaping off of her thighs before her mind could catch up with the action. By the time she realized Lucien had jumped off of her lap, he was making his way to his destination. 'La… Lou… Luke… Luke… LUKE!'

" _Oh my God!_ " someone shouted from the stands.

 **"** **DA… DAAAA!"** Lucien's shrilled voice screamed.

There was another shout from a spectator. "There's a…"

 **"** **THE BABY!"** cried another spectator.

 **"** **DADA! DADA! DADA!"**

"Guards, grab him before…" Nasira recognized Max's alarmed voice.

"A baby is coming up…" It had come from a spectator.

 **"** **DADA! DADA! DADA!"**

"Get him, before The Redeemer could…"

 **"** **DADA! DADA! DA…"**

"Luke! Luke… Luke, go to your mother!" demanded Max.

 **"** **DADA!"**

Nasira's body felt weighed down by an unseen entity. It drove a coldness into her limbs and skin. She could only watch Lucien as he scrambled up the last two stairs that led to the stage. Even in his emotional-frazzled state, the toddler managed to accomplish climbing up. Once his hands and knees climbed over the top stair, he searched for his father.

"La-L-Luke," Eric's ragged voice released. "Luke."

"Dada!" the boy's hoarse voice called out before his tiny feet began a trot.

Her dark brown orbs watched the toddler run into his father's direction.

"Dada," Luke cried as he drew closer to his heavily wounded father.

"L-L-L-Luke," Eric whimpered before breaking down into tears.

Nasira numbingly watched the child grab a hold of Eric's bloodied left shin. With a constant stream of sobbing coming from his mouth, he stared at his father's tear-streaked face. Her vision landed on Eric's contorted, blood-speckled face as he wearily gazed at their son. Lucien's arms and hands became soak with blood as his appendages hugged his father's calves.

 **"** **D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-DAD..."** The heavy sobs from his body wouldn't allow the child to speak. He buried his face into his father's knees.

'He's... Safe,' her brain weakly moaned. A millisecond later, she felt her left temple kiss cold, smooth marble.

"Oh my God!" she heard someone from the stands, gasped.

Nasira heard the gasped declaration as a strong wave of light-headedness struck her. Detailed shapes inexplicably became blurs. An eerie sense of security took a hold of her causing her to become careless. The back of her head lolled against the hard, cold marble. Her vision was suddenly greeted by an alluring sight. Her eyes took in the sight of The Eye of God, The Oculus. She watched the beauty that He created in the sky. She watched until she was covered with a blanket of darkness.


	6. Chapter Five: Punishment and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

 ***half-assed wave to the FFnet population***

I'm gonna say this outright: Y'all need to thank my mama for this random, chapter upload. She was the one that forced me to post this chapter, even though this wasn't a part of the story's original lineup. She said that I was 'being mean' for leaving the last chapter with that ending.

This chapter, right here, was a part of the final chapter, actually. So... That means, I have split up the last chapter into TWO CHAPTERS **.**

Yes, you are getting two for the price of one, today.

The upside to this is that I can upload the last chapter either this weekend or next week, because I am not anxious to post the 'aftermath' to Eric's punishment. Also, this chapter will answer all of y'all answers.

By the way, I love the fact that I have been receiving reviews within these last few hours.

Okay... Did I say everything that I needed to say? Mmmm... Yeah. Okay, let's pull out the 'yadda-yadda legal mumbo-jumbo'.

 **RATING:** Rated M for "Mature". Strong Adult Content. Strong Adult Language

 **WARNINGS:** This story is A/U and Non-Canon. All of the original characters that are in the "Divergent Series" and is mentioned in this story are OOC. No mentions of divergents/no war/no Abnegation massacre. This is story is mostly focused on two characters (one being my O/C) undergoing "real-life" situations. There aren't too many Sci-Fi/Fantasy-based traits in this story.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own the "Divergent Series" or the characters from the book/film series. I just own the O/Cs in this story.

Reviews? Yes, please. And thank you to the folks that has left me comments already.

Also, thank you, to the people who have 'favorited' this story.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Five** **: Punishments and Consequences**

 _The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble._

 _~Henry Miller_

* * *

A sharp intake of breath happened seconds before her eyes opened and was flooded with a stabbing light. Pain radiated throughout her skull. "Nah-ngh!" she groaned through clenched teeth. Her fingertips gingerly touched at her face.

"Oh… Good! You're awake!" said a cheerful, feminine voice that was too happy for Nasira's liking. "We were kinda hoping that you would wake up today."

"The… Light," the mother said weakly.

"The light?" the woman said softly, sounding confused.

"The light…" repeated Nasira. She proceeded to roll onto her right side. "…Its… Hurting my…" Her voice trailed off just as her hands were brought to her eyes, so she could shield them from the offensive hovering light.

" _Oh!_ " the cheerful woman gasped. "The _light_! That's what you've meant! The light— _The light over your bed_! Oh, I'm sorry. Lemme…"

There were footsteps and then she felt the woman's presence next to her, seconds later. The soft fragrance of flowers struck her nose as she lain there. Soon, a solitary, 'click' sound filled her ears and she felt a subtle heat that coated her face and the backs of her hands fade. Her eyes peeked through the crevices that were in between her fingers and she noticed the offensive light was extinguished. Her hands slowly peeled away from her face and rested on the clinic bed. Her eyelids peeled further away from her eyes and allowed her to take in the sights. The medical machinery that was posted on the side of the bed, were the first things that greeted her. Her eyes then spotted the curtain-barricade that was several feet away. Her vision spotted the rolling, bedside tray that was about a foot away from the bedside. She rolled onto her back and came across the drop-tiled ceiling. Her ears picked up the noises that were usually associated with a medicinal clinic or an infirmary: the distant sounds of dialogue that must've been taking place outside of the room, the close sounds of the medical equipment, such as the familiar beeps from the Holter Monitor.

But, there was one more sound that caught her attention. There was a steady and consistent stream of dull thumps that were going off in her right ear. It was a very familiar and pleasant sound for her. Her face developed a thick heat while her cheeks buzzed with excitement. '…That's my baby,' she silently cooed. Inadvertently, her hands found their ways to her stomach. She grew alarmed, when her fingers came across unfamiliar textures. 'What the…' She lifted her head slightly and peered down her body. Once she recognized the straps from the fetal heart monitor, her body relaxed. A harsh gust of breath was blown out of her mouth. 'Oh! Oh, I was… scared for the mo—

"How are you feeling, Miss Grant?" the woman asked.

The question seemed to have lured every ache and pain that was in her body to appear. She was immediately swamped with ailments, as soon as, the woman made her inquiry. The top of her head began to release a steady throb. Her right hipbone and flank were aching. Her throat was itching and it felt scratchy. Her stomach unleashed a series of low-tone groans and aches due to her lack of eating for the day. Her knees were crying out for relief as well.

A deep moan of discomfort came from her before she uttered, "I feel like I ran a marathon before tripping on a rock and then falling down a very steep hill… Plus, I am hungry".

Her testimony aroused the woman's sense of humor. She unleashed a series of giggles into the room. "I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman giggled. "I'm not laughing because…" She released more laughter. "I'm not laughing because I find your pain to be funny. It's just that…" She broke out in laughter again.

"I know," Nasira groaned. "I intentionally said it because I wanted to be funny."

The woman released her remaining chuckles into the room before she resumed her level of professionalism. "Miss Grant…" Her voice still contained its high-level of sweetness and happiness. "…do you have any pains in your head, like a headache or migraine pains?"

"Mmm-hmm," Nasira hummed as she nodded. "But, it feels more like I hit my head on something."

"Okay, ma'am. Where does it hurt?" the woman asked.

Nasira's right hand peeled away from her stomach and she reached to the top of her head. Her fingertips sought after the tender spot. The steady aching served as a beacon for her fingers. Once she found the exact location, her fingers hovered. " _Here_ … It hurts right here," she notified the woman.

"Okay… That sounds about… Right," the mysterious woman reported. She stepped away from the bedside. "A few hours ago, you fainted and had taken a nasty spill to the floor…" There was a set of footsteps. "…and you've been out of it ever since."

Nasira suddenly felt a cold substance pressed against the root of the head pain. She was immediately gifted with a sense of reprieve from the pain. Her lips mouthed the words 'thank you' to the woman. "How long have I been here?" she queried as her right hand kept the disposable ice pack in place.

"Mmmm… For about four hours," the woman answered. She walked away from the bedside and she traveled to the other side of the infirmary's gurney. She stood in front of the set of machines that were located there. "You arrived…"

Even shrouded in shadow, Nasira was able to identify the woman's actions. She was monitoring the machines' recordings.

"…here, at eighteen-hundred hours and thirty-three minutes."

"Where is ' _here'_ exactly?" the mother's voice croaked.

The shadowed head turned slightly into Nasira's direction. "You're in The Training Facility's infirmary unit." She turned back to facing the machines. "Your injury wasn't serious or needed immediate attention, so you were carried here instead of someplace like Landsteiner-Popper…"

' _Landsteiner-Popper.'_

 _'_ _Landsteiner-Popper.'_

 _'_ _Land—_

The famous hospital's name activated her memory bank and caused snapshots that were created several hours ago, to come to the forefront of her mind. Fragmented memories of Eric's punishment and the torture that Max forced upon their son, as well as, her son's crying face penetrated her conscious. She was forced to recall the devastating sounds of Lucien's cries.

" _Ma'am_!"

A millisecond after she sat upright, Nasira regretted it. Dizziness had taken a hold of her. The room began to slowly spin while waves of pressure came crashing down on her skull. Her ears filled up with pressure and caused the room's sounds to become muffled. Her eyes released tracks of tears. Her blurry vision scanned the infirmary room as she tried to brace with the series of discomforts. The other side of the private room was bathed in bright yellow light. She spotted the different bedroom furniture pieces that were stored across the room. There were a trio of doors on the opposite side of the room, which she figured led to a bathroom, a closet and the corridor that was next to this room.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't…"

Nasira felt a pair of hands touch her, each with a gentle grasp. One hand clutched her left shoulder while the other hand touched the flesh that was in the middle of her back. They were soft and warm.

"…have raised up so quickly," the woman lightly scolded her. She gave a slight pressure to Nasira's arm. It was a silent order for the patient to lay back down. "Ma'am, please—

"My son," groaned Nasira as she eyed the closed door that was diagonally across from her location.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

She slowly turned her face, so her eyes could focus on the woman. Once her focus landed on the darkness-covered being, she muttered, "My son… Do you know where he is at?" She immediately took note of the roughness that laced her voice.

"I don't know where he is at, Ma'am," the woman confessed. "But, I can ask the soldiers who brought you in, if they know where he is," she offered. The woman tried to make Nasira lay back down again. "Hopefully, they can help you… But…" She applied more pressure to the patient's bicep. "…Can you please lay back down while I ask them for you?"

Nasira stared at the shadowed figure for a few more seconds before she nodded her head. She gingerly made her way back to the gurney's mattress. The woman's hands helped her as she descended, being a guard rail for her.

"Oh…Kay," the woman pleasantly sighed. "Now… Lemme find those gentlemen and ask them about your son's whereabouts. I will also see if I can scrounge up something for you to eat. The infirmary's canteen is about to close for the day, but lemme see anyway."

The mother's stomach growled with gratitude, which caused the woman to giggle. "T-Thank you," Nasira managed to pronounced, even as her throat was feeling constricted.

"You're welcome, Miss." The woman drew the infirmary-issued bed linen over Nasira's exposed middle. "Now, lemme go and I'll come back immediately with an answer for you."

A hand was placed on Nasira's forehead. There was a soothing touch to the appendage. It reminded the woman of her mother's calming touches. Her brow relaxed and the scowl was melted away while her eyes closed shut.

"Good," the woman chirped. "That's good, Miss Grant. Just relax…" She placed the ice compress to Nasira's head. "…and don't move around… _Too much_."

Seconds later, the sounds of footsteps filled the room and it was followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

As soon as Nasira heard the noise of the door closing, the fine features on her face crumpled and a whining sob escaped from her mouth.

'Eric's dead… It's over. He's dead. He has no more pain to endure. No…'

"No," she cried. "No…"

Behind her eyelids, she was faced with images of Eric's brutalized body. She heard the sounds of his screams and his sobs, inside of her head. She recalled the scent of his blood and that unusual smell that was from the bullwhip's leather. Lucien's phantom screams and shrieks made her want to claw at her ears, so she couldn't hear them anymore.

 _"_ _I gotcha! I gotcha!" his growl managed to etch out as his tickled Lucien's little potbelly._

 _Lucien's shrieks and high-pitched giggles filled the living room, as he was carried by his father. His little legs kicked at the air and his body shook with excitement._

 _The sun's rays had beaten down on the father and son as they played. Nasira stood by the island counter as she watched the scenes unfold. A warmth exploded inside of her and it was a foreign sensation for her. It felt like pleasure and contentment, but this feeling was so much better. It was a better sensation than the act of satisfying hunger with a favorite morsel of food. It was even better than the feelings that she would receive from her mother's hugs. It was better than receiving—_

"Miss Grant."

She was ejected from her memory bank by the sound of the familiar baritone. His voice still held the same antipathy tone that he carried inside of The Oculus. She opened her eyes and she felt more tears slid down her face. Her vision landed on the sight of the large, shadowed figure that stood at the foot of her bed. He was standing upright with his shoulders straight and his head facing forward. 'Like a good little shoulder,' her brain snarled.

Her defined lips formed a snarl. "Where is my son?" she groaned. There was a fiery edge to her tone.

"That nurse…" Max glanced over his left shoulder, to the door that was behind him. "…told one of my men that you were asking for him."

"Where he is?" she groaned.

"He's… He's with your mother," he confessed. "She's taken him home… But, not before she tried to take my head off with her purse," he informed her.

'Good,' her brain growled, "I wish she-fucking-did!'

He had taken a step closer to the bed's footboard. "So… How are you feeling?"

A husky grunt escaped from her throat. 'Why-the fuck-do you want to know?! You're the cause of—

"How do you think I should feel, right now? I've fainted—Which, by the way, might have led to a concussion—after being subjected to watching the love of my life be _whipped_ in front of me. And not only me, but _my one-year-old son_ had to watch as well! So… How do _you think I should_ feel right now?"

"You're angry," he casually stated.

'He didn't just say that like he was…' Nasira slowly sat upright in her bed, disobeying her nurse's order. She grabbed the gurney's rail as soon as the room began to gradually spin. " _No… Shit, Max_! Yes! I am angry," she announced through clenched teeth. "You ordered the execution for the father of my children! You _forced_ me and _my_ son to watch his father be killed! And now… _Here you_ are… Acting like you're making some casual visit to my hospital bed, Max!" She huffed and she tossed the ice pack on the bed. " _Of_ course, I am _angry_." In the back of her mind, she was still aware that she was talking to her alpha leader and not to her godfather. This version of Max wasn't going to allow her to get away with her anger too much.

"It's understandable," the alpha leader told her. His shadowed form pointed to her. "Would you mind… Turning on the light? I can't see you."

Nasira released another huff. She turned her upper body and turned to the headboard. She attempted to find the light switch that controlled the light that was above her bed, through the limited lighting. She found the light's switch buried in the folds of the clothed, privacy curtain. She closed her eyes as she flicked the switch. The subtle warmth against her skin returned and a very low humming sound from the fluorescent lamp filled her ears.

"Thank you, Miss Grant," Max expressed.

'Well Max, _you're not welcome_ ,' she silently grumbled. She squinted her eyes and braced herself for the impending discomfort. But once she found none, she opened her eyes. She returned to staring at the rigid, alpha leader. After a few seconds of no communication passed, she spoke and she asked him the question that was burning a hole in her subconscious. "Why did you force me to watch that? Why did you force my uncle to bring my son there and forced him…To…? _He didn't deserve that!_ He's just a baby! He's just a _fucking baby_! No one shouldn't have to go through that! I wouldn't even…" Her right hand sliced through the air. "…force that on my worst enemy, Max!"

As she spoke, her brain recalled the pain that was exploding in her left knee and in the back of her skull. The over-powering odors of the blood and the dew from the wet grass that was outside of the mangled truck. The grotesque sounds of her father choking on his blood, his attempts at speaking her name and the way it blended in the sounds of the chirping crickets that were in the forest.

She made a tear-soaked gasp as she stared at a corner. " _No one_ …" She aimed her blurry vision at the alpha leader. "…should have to watch… _Or listen_ … to their father die!" She softly shook her head. A shuddering breath escaped from her. "N-No one." She turned her gaze to her blanket-covered lap. She still could feel that horrifying event still cling to the forefront of her mind.

There was silence between the two Dauntless members. It rained down on them, bringing along a high level of tension as a companion. Her skin prickled and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"You."

'Wha—

"Excuse me?" Her head snapped up and her eyes glared at the alpha leader. She initially believed that she didn't hear Max speak. It had to be a figment of her imagination.

"I said…" Max turned away from her. He approached the privacy curtain. He took a hold of the cloth and forced it out of his path. The rattling sound of the metal curtain hooks filled the room as he strolled across the room.

She stared at his retreating back as he walked to the door that she earlier suspected was the room's exit. She watched the alpha leader close the door and then engaged the locking mechanism. Once she heard the sound of the lock being engaged, her fear bloomed. Her look of anger turned into a look of caution. Her throat filled up with a knot while her stomach convulsed.

"…That it was you," he stated as he stared at the door. He faced her. His hands sank into his pants' pockets. "It was you," he repeated. "You want to know why I had you there and I'm telling you…" He performed a slight cough. "I brought you and Luke… To The Oculus, because I was angry at you… It was more like I was _unfairly angry_ at you. I…" He paused and allowed a gruff-sounding groan pass through his lips. His lips pursed afterwards while he glanced at the floor.

Nasira felt his frustration radiate from off of him.

The Alpha Regent Leader for the Dauntless faction attempted to express himself again. He licked his lips and then glanced at her. "When…. When you had shown up to my office, last Sunday… _Before_ you had shown up to my office, I had my decision all ready. I had watched everything that I needed to watch. I read every document and testimony about that kid's murder, from the front page to the back. Plus, I had gone over every Dauntless law there is. So, by the time I had made my decision, I knew. _I knew._ I was confident in my decision. _Then_ … You had shown up to my door…" He paused to inhale and exhale. "…And I wasn't confident in my decision anymore." He released a huff. He removed himself from the door and proceeded to walk to her bed. "I…I was following the Dauntless way of things, which are simple. When you murder a man without proof of it being in self-defense, then you will lose your life. It's been that way since the beginning of the faction's formation…" His head performed a subtle tilt. "…Then… There's our society's creed 'Faction Before Blood'. Both of those…" He arrived to the foot of her bed. "…I totally disobeyed, when I saw you stand at my doorstep."

'Wha-Wha-What?' Her dark brown eyes continued to stare at Max. Confusion was mixed in with the tears that were forming in her eyes.

"When you stood on my doorstep, I saw _you_. I didn't see the wife or the girlfriend of some Dauntless convict, who was there to beg for her man's life. I saw _you_. I saw _Nasira_. I saw my goddaughter. I saw the daughter that belonged to the two people that I owed my life to. I saw the grown-up version of that little girl, who used to jack me for candy, when I was younger. And it was at the point, when I… Changed my mind…"

 _'_ _Changed my mind.'_

 _'_ _Changed my mind.'_

 _'_ _Changed. My. Mind.'_

 _'_ _Changed—_

"W-What?" she tearfully murmured. "What?" she repeated. 'No... No. He's lying. He's lying. He didn't change his mind. He's lying to me...'

"…and I also began to feel like I failed at something as a leader, for the _first time_ ever. I was… Since I was a kid, I was raised with the goal of being a Dauntless leader and not just as any old leader, but for the _Alpha Regent status_. I was raised with a 'Dauntless Dad' for a father…" He tossed her a knowing look. "…like _your father had_ …" He groaned. " _Greatness_ … It was expected of me, from my father. I thought that… That I didn't believed in the ideology. I was wrong. I thought that I wasn't like my old man. Turns out, there _was_ a part of me that had believe in the Dauntless Alpha Regent Leader Wright the First's ideology." He sat on the bottom of her bed, at the edge. His head bowed forward. "And this is why…" He turned to stare at her. "…I was unfairly angry at you. I did something that I am sure that my father wouldn't have agree with or would've done." He unleashed a wry chuckle. His face pointed to the ceiling. "And this is a man who actually had his own brother-in-law executed, even though my aunt was pregnant at the time."

A minute's worth of silence penetrated the room before there was a voice.

"Err… Eric?"

Max stared at his goddaughter. A weak smiled graced his lips. "He's alive, sweetheart," he confessed.

'Wha…' A wave of coldness and light-headedness took over her body as the element of shock settled into her spirit.

"Yeah... He is still alive…" informed Max, solidifying the news. "…even though he should've been put to death for the crime. Nasira, he had murdered that kid. Like I've told you before…" He had taken his hands out of his pockets. "…I've punished men and women worse than I've given Eric and they didn't even commit murder." He lifted his head and stared straight ahead. "The hard part for me, throughout this whole planning thing, was finding an appropriate punishment for him, after all, _'_ _Oculum pro oculo. Sanguis enim sanguinem. Dentem pro dente.'_ Eric couldn't get off without spilling some form of blood, due to his crime. _And you know that_ , Nasira. It's a part of our customs..." He sighed. "Jayla was the one that suggested for me to look in the old Dauntless law book about manual punishments and to pick one from there. This is why it had taken us leaders so long, when we were deliberating. Well… They thought that I was still trying to decide, but the truth is… There's only one text of that old law book and it's in some law library in Candor and some damn kid had rented the book out. So, I had to wait for three days, in order to get it." A smile touched his lips. "So, I chose one. _Thirty-eight lashes from a cat o' nine tails_ and…" He glanced at her. "…I also stripped him of his role as leader…"

A hoarse, surprise-filled gasp fell from her lips. 'Oh… My… God…'

"…for the next five years," Max informed her. "Consider it to be… _Probation_ , for him. For these next five years, Eric is going to have to prove to me that he wants to be a leader again. In order for him to prove to me that he wants to be a leader again, he has to fulfill several promises for me. First one, and the most important one, he needs to go to rehab and he has to _go-all-the-way_ with this. I mean, he has to go through the 'in-patient treatment' program, the 'out-patient treatment' program, the random drug tests—Speaking of which—I'm not naïve. I know recovering addicts do have relapses, so… I am giving _three chances_ to fail those tests. _Three_. If Eric fails more than three times, I am done with him. Do you hear me? I. Am. Done. He will live the rest of his life as a civilian with a real cool-ass, neck tattoo. He will live like those druggies and drunks that practically live in The Snake Eyes Pub, re-living his 'glory days' with the other old geezers."

Nasira frantically nodded her head. "Y-Yes," she stuttered, feeling happy yet scared at the same time. She was happy that Eric was alive. But she was scared about the after-effects and the consequences that will derived from his punishment.

"Anyway, he also needs to attend therapy sessions as well. Jayla recommended a woman that lives out in Amity, so it's been arranged. I figured that Eric wouldn't want to see some therapist that's here. It's out in Amity and he'll have all of the privacy that he wants. I wanted to put a limit of any missed appointments on this, but my wife and the lady-therapist said that it wasn't a smart idea. Apparently, a lot of patients will miss appointments due to jitters…" Then he muttered, "or some shit like that".

"He won't go to the rehab," she revealed, with her voice small and meek. "I know he won't. I had asked him to go, once I found out about the drug use. I even asked him to do it for our son's sake and…" Her voice trailed off.

"Then… You gotta remind him of today," Max pointed out. He glanced down at his right knee. "That's… Another reason why I had you and Luke at the punishment."

"What?" she breathed in disbelief.

"I was _unfairly angry_ at you, Nasira. But I was _enraged_ with him. I was…" He shook his head and kissed his teeth. "I was so…" He grimaced. "…He was a leader. _A got-damned leader_ and he was using _that shit_?" His left hand performed a non-committal wave in the air. "I understand that people do things to unwind. Party. Drink alcohol. Do some drugs. But that _shit_? It's danger—Do you know about your Uncle Dario?"

Nasira nodded her head. "Yeah… He died of a drug overdose, when my brothers Dante, Trigger and Samson were kids."

Max nodded his head. "Yeah. It was Wept that he was using. He took some one night and came to the foolish thought that he was invincible. So... He climbed the tracks to the train and waited for it."

Her stomach spasm as shock permeated through her spirit. "I… I-I-I-I… My parents never told me that. They said that he died of a drug overdose."

"I guess they wanted to spare you the gory details. Well, anyway, that drug is dangerous and Eric _knew_ this and he still managed to get caught up in it. He is supposed to be one of the people that I look to, if I cannot fulfill my role as alpha regent. I cannot have a leader, whose been compromised, in power." Max lifted off of the edge of the mattress. He stretched his limbs and unleashed a hearty sigh. He turned to face her. "So, when he gives you some bullshit excuse as to why he cannot go to rehab, then you remind him about today. You tell him that your son had to watch him have his back get turned into confetti. Tell him that _he murdered a kid_ while he was on that stuff. Tell him that if he loves you and your son and his life and he wants to become a leader again, then he needs to take his ass to rehab. No 'if's, end's or but's' about it. He needs to go."

"Does he know…" she wondered loudly, "about his punishment?"

Max shook his head. "No. He was unconscious after his punishment was finished. From what I was told by his doctor, I won't have the opportunity to tell him until Saturday or Sunday, depending if he wakes up."

"Do you know where—

"He's here, in the infirmary. He is recovering in the Dermis Rejuvenation Laboratory."

"Can—

"Yes… But, only after you eat your meal," he ordered. "That nurse said that she was going to get you something to eat. So, eat your dinner and then the nurse, or someone else, will take you to see him. Okay?"

Nasira nodded her head. "Okay."

* * *

The nurse returned to the private room, fourteen minutes later. By then, Max had made his departure and she was left alone. The nurse returned to the room with a tray of food, which made Nasira's mouth water and her stomach growl. She was never a fan of hospital-issued food, but she was going to make an exception this night. The 'roast beef and mashed potato' meal was barely on the rolling tray before she began to attack the plate.

The nurse giggled at Nasira's reaction. "I see that you're hungry," the nurse chuckled.

Mild embarrassment touched the mother's spirit. She glanced down at her plate. "I'm sorry," she announced with a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"No, it's alright, honey," the kind nurse pointed out. "I used to be the same way, when I was pregnant with my own daughter. I think it has something to do with the extra hormones…"

Nasira paused in her actions. Surprise had struck her, leaving her feeling both hot and cold. She stared at the nurse, who was still yapping away while she monitored Nasira's and her baby's vital signs.

 _'_ _My own daughter.'_

It was the way that the nurse had said that statement, which caused the mother's spirit to go into shock. 'Am I pregnant… With a girl?' Her lips parted and a low hiss of cowardice fell out. She clamped her lips shut. 'Ask her,' her instinct told her. She swallowed all of the food that was inside of her mouth and attempted again. "M-M-Ma'am?"

The nurse peeled her attention away from the Holter monitor and aimed her brown eyes on Nasira. "Yes, sweetie?"

"You…"

The nurse nodded her head. "Mmm-hmm."

"…said 'daughter'…" Nasira tried to ignore her pounding heart. "…You said, _'my own daughter,_ ' like it implies that I am having a girl. Am—

The kind and warm smile dropped from the woman's face. "Oh goodness. You didn't know, did you?" the nurse asked, with a fringe of worry in her voice.

'OH... OH... OH-OH MY GOD!'

" _Oh no…You didn't know_?!" The nurse's naturally-narrowed eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Her hands covered her gaping mouth.

'...OH MY GOD!'

"Ma'am… _I'm so-so-so-so sorry_! I didn't mean to spill the beans for you."

'...OH MY FRIGGIN' GOD!'

"Ma'am, Miss Grant, I am so sorry. I shouldn't said—

"Oh my goodness, I am having a girl!" blurted Nasira. She dropped her fork and covered her mouth with her hands. Her wide, tear-filled eyes scanned the woman's face. A barrage of high-pitched giggles splattered the palms of her hands. "I'm having a girl! I'm having a girl! I'm having a girl!" She proceeded to cry and uncontrollably laughed simultaneously.

"Ma'am, are you…"

Nasira excitedly nodded her head.

"…So you're not mad at me for revealing your baby's gender?" the nurse asked, still sounding worried.

"No!" she declared. She realized her voice was muffled, thanks to her hands. She removed her hands. "No! No. No. I'm not angry at all. I'm not." She shook her head and lightly giggled. "I promise you."

"Oh!" the woman gasped. Her left hand touched her chest while she rolled her eyes. Relief was displayed on her face. "Thank goodness!" She looked at her patient. "I thought that I had ruined your surprise. I know that a lot of women want to keep their babies' genders quiet, but stupid me totally forgot about that!" She chuckled.

"It's okay, Nurse—

"Oh, my name is Coulter-Abernathy," the nurse announced.

A cold wave washed down her spine. 'Coulter-Aber—

"Yes… Honey," the nurse confessed with a knowing glint in her eyes. The saccharine-sweet persona was dropped and a seriousness had taken over her. The toothy smile faded and a tight-lipped one had taken over. She glimpsed at the guard rail. "He's my nephew. My…" Her eyes scanned the bed. "… _sister's…"_

The word sounded as if it was difficult for her to enunciate, according to Nasira.

"…son." She glanced at Nasira. A smile appeared on her face as her head tilted to the side. "My daughter was there, too, you know," she confessed.

'Your daughter? Your daughter… Your daughter. Your daughter. Your daughter…' Then the answer had hit the expecting mother. "Mathilda... Is your daughter."

Nurse Coulter-Abernathy nodded her head. "Uh-huh," she groaned. "That hard-headed woman is my daughter. A daughter that _I told not to go to the punishment because she is pregnant and is in a delicate condition_. But, _Miss Missy_ decided to go…. That little heifer." She chuckled. "But, I was glad that she did go. Because… When she told me that that boy was _just_ whipped and carted off to come here, I was…" She unleashed a wavering sigh. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Once her eyes opened, the cheerfulness returned.

Nasira turned her attention to her food. 'See, Eric? _You do_ have family.' She smiled and then lightly chuckled.

"What's funny, honey?" the kind nurse asked.

Nasira stopped laughing and inhaled deeply. "He made it seem like he didn't have much of a family."

"Who, _Eric_?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Eric… He _has_ family. But it is up to him to _accept_ his family," she pointed out. "He has a _whole_ bunch of family! Here, in Dauntless. In Candor. A lot in Erudite and some in Amity. He has a gang of nephews, here in Dauntless. His brother lives here, as well as, his sister-in-law. He has _me_ and his cousins here, too. Eric just has… _You know_."

Nasira nodded her head. She looked to her plate of food. Her stomach reminded her of the previous task, by growling.

"I think your stomach and your baby girl is telling you something," the nurse jested.

The young mother lightly chuckled. Her eyes scanned the plate. She picked up her fork and proceeded to eat. In the back of her mind, she thought that Eric was going to need all of the help that he could receive within these next five years. She knew that the impending tidal waves of emotion and reaction that was going to come was a job that was too big for her.


	7. Chapter Six: Try For Redemption (Finale)

**Author's** Note: 

*waves*

Hey, peeps!

Alright, here it is! Here's the final- _final_ chapter for "Trying For Redemption".

This story... It has been an amazing time for me, during the writing process and for the typing process. We're in the Mercury Retrograde cycle right now, so I'm surprise that I was able to get through this.

Some news now... I am going on a little break. I am going to take a few weeks *knocks on wood* off and get my mind right. I'll start re-writing again during the summer. I don't know _when_ , but I do know that I won't start before my birthday arrives (June 16th). But I will say this: this next story in the "Eric and Nasira" series will be the second-to-last story in the series. It will carry more drama for the couple. Plus, this story will take place five years after this story.

Annnnndddddddd... Drum roll, please...

It will be written in Eric's point of view!

For this future story, I do have an outline drawn up. I just haven't started on the writing process, yet.

So, closing out: I've enjoyed writing this story. This is special for me because this is a literary project that I've managed to finish writing. This is something that I've haven't done in a very long time. It's quite a feat for me. I also wanted to say thank you for living me with some words of encouragement. They have been getting me through the thoughts of self-doubt and the mental/emotional fatigue that plagues me, from time-to-time.

Thank you.

 **Rating:** **Rated M for 'Mature'. Strong Adult Themes. Strong Adult Language. Mentions of violence.**

 **Warnings : This story is an A/U and Non-Canon. No mentions of divergents/no war/Characters are OOC/no Sci-fi or Fantasy themes/no Abnegation massacre.**

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I don't own the Divergent Series. I don't own the song "The Moon Song". I just own the OCs.**

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Try For Redemption**

 _I have to believe there's redemption in the darkest of circumstances; otherwise it's too bleak for me.  
`Paddy Cosindine_

* * *

It was considered to be such a mundane and forgettable task on most days, for Nasira. For the Dauntless woman, she would always make trips from her bedroom to the living room. She has performed the action so many times, to the point where she could travel through the darkness without bumping her body into walls or furniture. During those times, the pitch-blackness wasn't her enemy; it wasn't out to get her. She was able to travel without a twinge of fear and caution.

But, not for tonight. Tonight, the darkness that covered the world outside of her bedroom, now felt like it was a monster just waiting for its prey. The darkness antagonized her. Bared soles lightly touched the cold, wooden floorboards as they took their owner from the bedroom. It made her fear wake up from its sleep and bother her spirit and body. As she walked from the bedroom to her living room, her skin was littered with goose-pimples and chills that crawled upon her skin's surface. Her abdominals were taut with mild anxiety.

Once she entered the living room, she sought after the front door. As she drawn closer to the front door, her eyes peered at the floor. Her eyes stared at the thin bars of light that were displayed on the floor that was in front of the door, as the corridor's light shone into the door's crevices. She approached the front door and used her right eye to peer into the peep hole. She was presented with the sight of an empty hallway. She pulled away and then pressed her right ear against the cold, metal door. She listened for any sounds of life. After eleven seconds of inspecting, she realized that she was behaving foolishly. "Okay… This is just plain ol' stupid," she muttered to herself. Her left set of fingers curled around the stainless steel door handle just as she removed her ear from the door. "Just see what's going on and then make sure he leaves," she quickly planned. After taking a deep breath and coming to a place where she was able to disregard her frayed nerves, she opened the door. A blanket of light greeted her vision and had little daggers of discomfort to be released in her eyes. Her eyes drew shut just as a grimace touched her face. Fingertips drew circles into her eyelids and effectively banished the discomfort. She stepped into the threshold and stuck her head into the corridor. Nasira looked to her right and peered down the hallway. 'Okay…' She proceeded to turn her head. '…looks like no…' Her vision was immediately drawn to the large, indecipherable shape that was on the floor, as soon her face was aimed to the left. '…one—

"Shit," her lips lowly groaned, showing off her disappointment.

Nasira continued to stare at the lump that was dressed in black clothing. It was resting in the space that was beside the doorframe, on the floor and pressed against the wall. Eric gave off the impression that he was asleep. His forehead was resting on his tattooed, thick forearms, which were resting on his kneecaps. His broad shoulders were hunched and were making slow, repetitive rises as if he was resting. Her vision picked up the sliver of exposed, tanned skin that covered the back of his neck. A family of healing scratches marked the area, giving off the allusion that the faction leader was recently fought. "What the hell?" she softly questioned. 'Rough sex, maybe?' her conscience suggested. Her fingertips reached down and lightly grazed the skin.

His body suddenly jolted, which caused Nasira to flinch. His head pulled away from his forearms and his back straightened. "Hmmmm?" The husky groan escaped from him as his hands began to raise.

She cautiously viewed the faction leader as he chased away the webs of slumber. It has been two months since she saw Eric. Precisely, twelve weeks and one day since that night, when he told her about his feelings towards her. It also marked the right gestation age for her unborn baby. '…Baby,' she quietly swooned. 'No! No-no-no… Handle this problem first and then we can go crazy for the baby later,' her conscience urged. She agreed with the suggestion. She returned her focus on Eric, who was now awake and was stretching his arms. "Err… Eric?"

His head turned into her direction. Discolored and swollen blue eyes focused on her. The redness had become a deeper shade while the inflammation for his eyelids were puffier, to the point where some of the capillaries were evident against the skin.

Immense disappointment struck her as she stared at the sign of Eric's broken promise. 'He's still using,' her brain reported to her. '…It said that the drug's side effect… Twelve days. It's been _twelve weeks_. This can't last this long…' She heavily sighed. '…Eric.' The dried blood that was caked up in his nostrils distracted her. 'Wait…' Her vision was then distracted by the burgundy splotch that covered his right cheek. '…What is going on?' Her eyes twitched in their sockets so she could stare at the other physical signs of battery that marked his face. The scab that was marked the bridge of his nose. The thin red line that covered his left temple. The scabbed-over dots that were inside of his left ear. Her sight drifted further down and discovered a series of burgundy-colored splotches on his throat.

Eric inhaled and then looked away, barring her from viewing his face. "I…" he breathed, as he stared at his legs. "…don't know how I got here," he confessed.

Nasira heard the alteration to his voice. Whereas, it used to be confident and smooth, now it was vulnerable and coarse. It was as if he was battling a case of the sore throat. 'Or… the case of his throat being choked by a person during a fight,' her logic told her. She brusquely inhaled and peered in the opposite direction. She didn't want Lucien's father to see the expression of worry that was written on her face. "Well… Eric, I advise you to get up and go home," she suggested. She glanced at the carpeted floor. "Anissa…" She shivered when the feeling on inadequacy touched her spirit. "…is probably up and waiting for you, right now…" She turned her focus on the leader. "… _you know_." She noticed that he was still looking down at his knees.

There was a snarky-filled scoff from him. "If you were to place a bet, then you would lose," he told her.

" _What_? Why?" she asked with a slight grimace in her brow. "What are you saying: _She's cheating on you_?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, if she was…" He lifted his head up and rested the back of his skull on the wall. His eyes were closed. "…But then again… I deserve it…" His head began to softly sway as if he was listening to a catchy song. "…that's how we managed to hook up."

'Well, you wanted her and now you have to deal with that,' she silently pointed out. She shifted her weight between her feet and then leaned her left shoulder against the doorframe. Her left knee jutted forward as her weight was shifted to her left side. She folded her arms across her chest. " _Soooo_ , you still have to get up and go, Eric. My super doesn't look too kindly to these kinds of things."

Eric released a series of incoherent, multi-syllabic grumbles, in response.

Nasira stared at her son's father and she waited for some form of movement from him. Seconds turned into minutes without an inch's worth of movement from him. Her patience waned. " _Eric,_ " she groaned. "Come on, you gotta go…" She pushed herself off of the doorframe. She stepped into the corridor and she approached his resting body. "…Come on, Eric," she muttered. Her left set of toes proceeded to nudge his right thigh. "You gotta get up, now."

There was another groan from him. His arms fell to their sides. Another groan escaped from him. "Can you…?"

"Can I do _'_ _what'_?" she asked his grimacing face.

"Can you…?" A brusque exhale passed his nostrils. "Can you help me up?" He took a breath. "I need help getting up," he confessed.

"Excuse me?" she said to him with a tone of disbelief.

A wry chuckle escaped from his lips which quickly turned into a drawn-out hissing sound. His hands pressed themselves to his denim vest. The grimace on his face had deepened. "It even hurts to fucking laugh, so you can imagine how it feels when I have _to move_ ," he groaned.

"What happened to you, Eric?"

He grunted, "Nothing important… Nothing to worry your pretty little head about". His eyes shot open and he glanced at her. "So…" he breathed. "…can you help me up?"

'If this makes him leave…' Nasira unleashed a huff and came to her decision. She took a few steps into her left and now stood in front of him. She noticed his eyes were focused on her for the entire movement. She extended her hands in front of her and wiggled her fingers. "Come on… Give me your hands," she ordered. She accepted his hands as soon as they were raised. Once they were in her clasps, she observed his fingers. 'Mmmm…' she quietly hummed as she eyed the healing scratches and the bruises on his knuckles. '…he was fighting.' She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"What?" his voice rasped.

"Nothing," she muttered, making her irritation known. '…Position is off,' her logical instinct told her. She glanced at her feet's position and then her hands.

"What?" he muttered.

"We're off," she informed him.

" _What?_ "

"We're off. I can't help you while standing in this position, Eric. I need to…" An idea crept into her mind. Her vision performed a waltz between her hands and his knees. "Open your legs," she commanded.

"Why—

"Because you need to stand up without bothering your ribs any more than you need to and this is the only way that I am able to pick your big ass up without _hurting_ _my back_ ," she informed him. "So…" Her right hand performed a 'shooing' motion. "Open your legs."

Eric grunted before taking a wheezing breath. Then, with a snail's pace, the Dauntless leader spread his knees apart until there was a wide berth between them.

"Okay, Eric, what I am going to do is wrap your arms around me and I am going to wrap my arms around your waist. Then we're going to stand by using the wall," she informed him.

Eric simply nodded his head.

"You ready?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he moaned.

Nasira nodded her head and proceeded to go to work in helping him to stand up. She invaded the space in between his legs and squatted in front of him. She forced his arms around her neck and then she placed her arms around his waist. She rested her chin on his right shoulder. "Are you ready?"

"Y-Yeah," he grunted.

"I'm going to countdown to one. Just raise up like you're doing one of those damn squats that you used to make me do, when I was an initiate," she informed him.

"Alright."

"Five… Four… Three… Two… One!" Her grip tightened around his waist just as she applied strength to her legs.

"AAAAHHHHH…FFFFFFUCK!" Eric loudly groaned, out in pain.

'Got-damn, he's heavy-as-shit!' she silently swore as she raised herself higher. Her fingers snatched up the back of his vest in order to brace the additional weight. "Alright Eric, keep it up," she whispered. Both parents slowly made their way to their feet to the soundtrack of Eric's pain-drenched groans filling the atmosphere. Once they were on their feet, she slowly unwound her arms from around his waist and she helped the leader found temporary solace in the wall. Even with a sturdy foundation behind him, Eric's arms remained around her shoulders and his face buried in the curve of her neck. She made the motion to move out of his embrace. But she was given a tighter embrace for her troubles. "Err-Eric… Let go," she politely instructed. She gently pushed at his chest.

"No," he said into her neck.

The softness and the vulnerability in his tone made a twinge of discomfort strike her chest. Her upper eyelids began to sting. "Eric," she said softly.

"No… I told you… Ain't letting you go."

"Eric," her trembling voice released. "Stop… Please. Let go of me."

 _'_ _I can see why you're alone! You're a fucking sheltered, pampered princess!_ _You're a waste! You're just as worthy as a pair of tits on a bull!'_

His hurtful confession returned to her consciousness. It brought along those residual feelings that came from hearing those statements. Her heart began to race inside of her chest while her face grew hot. A pair of tears managed to escape from her eyelids. "Umm… Let's… Let's go inside for a minute. I think my neighbors probably called the super already," she suggested.

"Okay," he grunted.

Both parents proceeded to move in a clumsily and lazy formation, which reminded Nasira of the evening strolls that she took with their son. The steps from the corridor to the apartment were slow-paced and each step was pre-planned, with encouraging words from the mom.

"It's dark in here," muttered Eric after entering the living room.

"I know…" she told him before she shut the front door with her right foot. The living room was now immersed in darkness. "But I know my way around, so you're gonna have to trust me."

"Okay."

"Alright Eric, now let's walk, okay," she gently ordered him. Her left hand gave his left flank a soothing caress.

"It's dark in here," he repeated.

"I know. I know," she said in a soothing voice. They made their first step together. "But, I got you." There was another pair of steps. With this movement, her hearing picked up the sounds of Eric hissing with discomfort. "Do you want to stop for a moment?" she asked of him.

"N-No. No"

For Nasira, he sounded determined. "Okay." She encouraged the faction leader to take some more steps. Slowly but surely, they made it to the couch's location. She used her knees as an indicator to figure out which part of the couch, they stood in front of. 'The chaise,' she concluded. "Okay, I need you to turn around, Eric. We're standing in front of the lounge part of the couch."

"O-Okay," he groaned.

"What? You don't trust me?" asked him.

"Y-Yes, I trust you… You're the only one that I can trust."

His confession caused her chest to be subjected to a hard punch of force. It left her briefly breathless and with a sharp ache in the valley that was in between her breasts.

"FFFFFFuc-uck…" he groaned out in pain. "It even hurts to breathe," he muttered.

His declaration caused her to return her focus on what was ailing him. "It's probably…" She released her hold on his waist. "…your ribs." She walked to his front and she stood in front of him. "Come on, Eric, sit down."

"Help me… Please."

"Sure. Hold onto me," she requested. Her hands guided his own to her shoulders. She felt his fingers provide her with a strong squeeze. A wailing groan filled her ears, seconds later. The hold on her shoulders became tighter just as she felt an invisible force in her abdomen and in her lower back. It was trying to persuade the mother to bend forward. As he lowered further down, the force became stronger and she eventually relented.

"Mmmmppphhhhuuuucccc-uck!" Eric brusquely moaned as his ass connected with the couch's cushion. A hearty, hoarse wheezing escaped from his body.

'His ribs. God…' She groaned within her throat. "Jeez Eric… What-the-fuck happened to you?" she muttered as she gave his arms investigating swipes.

"I… Do you _really_ want to know?" he groaned.

"Yeah, to be quite honest."

There was another ragged breath. "I… I had a fight, down in The Corners," he confessed.

Nasira sighed. "I kinda already figured _that_ out," she muttered.

"No…" he grunted. "I was involved with _the fights_ that take place in The Corners. You…" He wheezed. "… _do know_ about those, do you?"

'Are you fucking kidding me?!' Instead of lashing out, the mother kept her composure. Nasira kissed her teeth. " _Eric_ ," she groaned with disappointment.

"So… _You know_ about them?"

"Yes, I know about them…" she told him as she stood upright. "I may be a _sheltered and pampered princess_ , but I do know about some stuff that comes out of The Pit and from The Corners."

"You're… You're mad at me?"

She heard the vulnerability in his tone again. Once again, she felt pressure stab at her chest, making her heart race and thump against her breastplate. 'Eric, you're trying to make sure that our kids won't have a father, aren't you? You're just… _Fucking up_ , over and over again.' She huffed. "You're not fit to travel to your apartment, tonight," she pointed out. "You're gonna stay in my guest bedroom. But first…" She had taken a few backward steps. "…you need to get clean up 'cause you stink."

Nasira didn't wait around to hear Eric's reply. She walked away from the leader and the couch before delving further into the apartment. She walked across the living room, to the hallway's entrance. Before she entered, her left hand sought after the light switch that she knew was on the wall. Her fingertips flicked the switch and light flooded a small portion of the living room. Then she traveled into the hallway and entered the first darkened room that was on the right side. Once she powered up the bathroom's lights, she proceeded to draw up a shower for the injured leader. As the bathroom gradually filled up with steam, she was on the other side of the apartment, in the guest bedroom that also doubled as her art studio. She quickly dressed the queen-sized, sleigh bed with linen. Before she left the bedroom, she did a quick perusal of the room and make sure that there weren't any disturbances.

She found the Dauntless leader nodding off, when she returned to the living room. His head performed slight bobs as he slept upright. His hands were clumsily folded on his lap. Even in this limited light, she still thought he looked like he vacationed in the factionless territories before he made a trip into Hell. She bent at the waist and she shook his hands. "Eric," she softly announced to his sleeping face. "Eric… Come on… Wake—

Eric's head unexpectedly jerked upright. His puffy, red eyes were opened and as wide as they could perform. His blue orbs focused on her. "What?" his voice croaked.

"You… Your shower's ready," she reported.

"Kay," he mumbled. With a deep sigh, he pulled his back away from the couch and he cautiously slid his bottom to the cushion's edge. His hands shook as they rose in the air. Once his hands were on her shoulders and his fingers were locked, he proceeded to rise from the couch with the same level of consideration.

Once he was off of the chaise and was standing, Nasira escorted Eric to her bathroom. She listened to his whimpers with every step of their travel. With each step, her spirit was pulled into two different directions. She didn't know whether she should've been angry or sympathetic and sad for the man. She was angry because of his audacious nature. For his daring attitude. Two months prior, he named her and deemed her as being worthless while heralding his girlfriend with deity proportions. Now, he was: battered and barely walking, expecting _something_ from her. Plus, there were traces of his drug consumptions. However, all of those factors made her feel sympathetic towards him.

"Okay, Eric…" she muttered as she led him to the center of the bathroom floor. "…let's get these clothes off," she ordered. She gently stripped her shoulders of his arm and placed it by his side. She stepped in front of the Dauntless leader and proceeded to help him strip. Her fingers expertly unbuttoned the metal clasps of his vest. She peeled the item from his shoulders and allowed it to callously drop. She eyed the black, short-sleeved shirt with scrutiny. "Mmmm…" she hummed. She gazed into his eyes. "This one is going to be tricky, but you gotta do it."

"Okay," he slurred.

"You're gonna have to lift your arms up in the air," she reported to him. His face folded into a grimace, which reminded the mother of their son's face before he threw temper tantrums. "I know. I know," she cooed with a fringe of a smile.

Eric, with great hesitance in his eyes, slowly lifted his arms. He occasionally halted in his steps. The grimace on his face would become more detailed and hisses would escaped from his twisted-up mouth, during those moments.

The mother decided to peel off his shirt as quick as possible, so he could receive his relief sooner than expected. Her fingers snatched up the hemline of his shirt and she pushed the fabric up.

"Sssssss….Fuck," the faction leader groaned.

She glimpsed into his eyes. "Sorry," she whispered. Her eyes focused on his torso again. There was another push at the fabric. More of his hard and muscled stomach was exposed.

"Care… full," he whimpered.

"I will be," she assured him. Her fingers pulled the bunched shirt up to his pectorals. Her eyes caught flashes of color against flesh. She turned her full attention on the bruises that she knew was going to be there. The burgundy-purple discoloring that marked his left side was a continuous bruise that almost covered his left nipple. Meanwhile, the bruising on his right side were a family of maroon-colored splotches, where the largest one was the width of her fingers, when they were closed together. "Your ribs… I think they're broken," she concluded. "You might have to go to the infirmary tomorrow… Well, _later on today_ , I mean."

"Kay," he slurred.

She gave his face another glimpse. She noticed his eyes were at half-mast and his lips held a slight part in between them. 'He's sleepy… Or high… Whichever one. Either way, he needs some sleep. Let's make this quick.' She had to stand on her tippy-toes in order to take his clothes off. She tossed the shirt to the floor. Her fingers attacked the fastenings to his jeans, next. Once they were out of the way, she slipped her hands underneath the layer of material and she pushed his pants, along with his boxer-briefs, down. She pushed the clothes down to his knees, where it fell further down his legs to his ankles. She sank down to her knees and she began to untie his boots' shoelaces. She kept her head bowed and her eyes on his feet, even though she felt his sex swaying above her head. "Okay, Eric… I need for you to lift your left foot up so I can take this stuff off." A second later, she felt his hand grip her skull. She watched his left foot—

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BINNNGGG!"_**

The sharp, high-pitched ringing noise pulled her out of her reverie. Her dark brown eyes pushed past the glaze that covered them and she surveyed the sight that was before her. 'Aaa… Oh!' her brain gasped as she eyed the 'lid' of the Dermal Rejuvenator part from the base and proceed to rise into the air. Neon lavender-colored light spilled from out of the lid's bottom, highlighting Nasira's lap, the base and the floor that was beneath it. With each passing second, the lid's actions revealed the purpose for her visit.

 ** _"_** ** _STAGE ONE…COMPLETE!"_** a feminine, electronic voice reported. **_"_** ** _STAGE TWO… COCOON STASIS!"_**

' _Cocoon stasis_?' she wondered. She took note of the various colored cords and clear tubes that were hanging from the ulterior side of the lid. Her eyes peeled away from the glowing lid and she stared at the unconscious Eric, who was five feet in front of her. 'Oh!' Her eyes widened, when she finally detected the former faction leader's current condition. He was laying stomach-down on the base that served as a resting place. He was facing her. Her eyes scanned the thick and cream-colored, waxy film that covered most of his body. His head, right hand along with his arm, ankles and feet weren't covered by peculiar substance. His right hand and arm were subjected to their own discomfort, courtesy of the intravenous system that was set up. A disposal thermometer was taped to his forehead.

 _"_ _The Cocoon Stasis stage is when there is a protective film… Look like wax was poured on him… This is why he was drugged… Very-very painful if he was awake…This procedure would make a papercut or even a simple burn from a hot bowl of soup feel like Hell… The wax is actually causing his skin to reproduce at thirty-six times its normal rate… He will have scars, of course. But he will be healed within four days, though. He'll be under for three of those days…I say that it is a good thing, after all…"_

'Ohhh,' she said to herself, 'that's right… That's right. I forgot'. Her line of sight focused on Eric again. He was unconscious since his bloody exit from The Oculus, but she thought he appeared to be peacefully sleeping at the moment. There wasn't a hint of torture etched on his face. His brow was relaxed and free from even the normal scowl that he wore. The inflammation has been plaguing his eyelids managed to simmer down a little. All in all, the faction leader carried the appearance of a man that was resting.

' _Former_ Dauntless leader,' she corrected herself. Hearing those words rattled inside of her head caused her whole body to deeply tremble. ' _Former…_ He's no longer the leader. He's… Oh God, he's going to freak out about this. Please, Eric…. _Please-please-please-please_ don't break. Please don't break after this. You're strong enough.' Each of her hands grabbed the wheels from the wheelchair and she traveled to the edge of the base. She leaned forward, drawing her face close to his sleeping one. Fingertips from her right hand sifted through the matted curls that decorated the left side of his head. She listened to his breathing as she gazed at him. "You… Eric. You can get through this. Even if you don't want to be a leader anymore…"

' _Really, Nasira? Eric… As a regular-ass civvie?'_

"…Okay, who-in the-hell am I trying to kid?" she muttered. She rolled her eyes and broke out in a giggle. "You love being a leader." She had fallen silent. She continued to gaze down at him while her fingers continued to caress his head. "I may as well tell you _now_ , even though I will eventually tell you again, after you wake up… I'm pregnant… And it's a girl…" A beaming smile appeared on her face while there was a fluttering inside of her stomach. "Yeah, we're having a daughter. A baby girl. Turns out, that little moment we had on my couch led to something important, hon. I'm thirteen weeks. I just left my first trimester and is now in my second trimester. I am going to be getting big soon." She chuckled.

'I really hope that he'll be here, with me, when this starts to happen. He missed Luke's development. He doesn't have to miss hers.'

She gazed at his profile. "Your brother told me that he hoped that I was having a girl. He felt like you deserved one. I didn't know whether I should've been offended or not. He also told me some things about your mother, too…"

'And I am sorry, baby… Back to the first step.'

"Oh, dear God," she dramatically groaned as she eyed the ceiling. She sighed. She returned her gaze at him. "You're like a bad rash that keeps coming back, you know that?" she jested. Her smile caused her top lip to collect a few tears. "No matter how many times that I try to shake you off and get rid of this… _Love_ … That I have for you. You go and do something…" She shook her head. "I should've kicked your ass to the curb, a long time ago," she said, chuckling. "But, your sorry ass—

Nasira abruptly came to a halt, when she heard the sound of the electric doors sliding open. She clamped her mouth shut and then she gazed into the direction of the doors. Her eyes came across the sight of two people that she silently prayed to see. Eric was quickly forgotten as she eyed her mother and her son.

"Mommy," she greeted in a whisper. Tears sprung from her eyes while a smile appeared on her lips.

The older Grant presented a gracious smile to her daughter. "Hey babe…"

"Mama!" Lucien cried out in happiness. His voice was hoarse and weak. He still carried the physical residual effects from his experience in The Oculus, on his face. His tiny, cherubic face was pink-tinted while his eyelids were a deep shade of red and swollen.

"…bee."

"Lukie-bear," she said softly. Nasira removed her embrace from around Eric and she wheeled a few inches away from his bedside.

"Mama!" he called out to her.

She watched her son struggle to free himself from his grandmother's embrace.

"Alright… Alright…" Mrs. Grant whispered. She came to a stop in her traveling so she could put the toddler down. Once his feet were placed on the floor, she said, "There you go! Now, go and get your Mama".

"Mama-Mama-Mama," the boy whimpered as he ran to his mother.

Nasira watched her son trot over to her. She swiftly picked Lucien up and placed him in her arms. She squeezed his body and buried her face in his hair. 'Oh God… My baby. My baby. My baby. My baby.' She planted kisses on his left temple. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered into his face.

"Nah-oooh," the child whined as his fists pushed at her chest. "M-Mama. Nah-oooh."

She gave her son one more set of kisses and she released her tight hold on him. She allowed the child to change his pose on her lap.

"Dada," he whimpered as soon as he stared straight ahead.

Snapshots of Lucien's screaming and his face flashed in her face. She flinched. 'Oh God. Oh God…' She brought her face to her right palm. '…Oh God. Oh God. Oh God…' The sounds of her shuddering breaths climbed up to her ears.

"Honey-baby, are you okay?" she heard her mother asked, concern laced in her voice.

"Yeah," she groaned into her palm.

"Are you sure?"

Nasira nodded her head. "Yeah… I'm sure." She lifted her head away and stared straight ahead. "Yeah, I'm sure." She sniffled and wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands. She nodded once again. "I'm fine."

"It's not your head?"

Once again, she nodded her head. "I'm fine, Mom."

"Okay," Mrs. Grant breathed. "What about the baby? Are you…"

Nasira grimaced. 'Shhh…it!'

"…sure that there's nothing wrong with the baby?"

"Yes, Mom…" She glanced at her mother. "…She's fine," she confirmed.

Mrs. Grant sighed and pressed her hand to her chest. "Oh, thank goodness," the woman whispered. Her relief was made evident.

'She didn't hear me,' her brain concluded. A smile touched her lips and she felt a bit of joy with the knowing that her mother was going to be thrilled, when she found out about the baby's sex. She turned away from her mother and she returned to the original object of her focus. She also watched Lucien try to speak to his father. "When Max tol—

Her mother's growl of disgust interrupted her statement.

"Please… Please… _Please_ … Don't ever mention that… _Man's_ name around me," her mother groaned. A few seconds of silence wafted through the air before she spoke again. "I… He… He-He-He… This little boy… And, _you_ … He shouldn't have done that..." There was a tear-soaked exhale. "And that's all I'm gonna say about that. Because, if I say what I _really-really-really_ want to say, I'm sure that I would be place in The Land."

Hearing the raw and unrefined layers of anger in her mother's voice caused her eyes to release a fresh batch of tears. The younger Grant woman had a mother that was regal and refined like a royal. The adjectives also could be used to describe her temper. Davina Grant never displayed that caustic emotion in front of anyone. The sense of irritation was one thing, as well as, the feeling of disappointment were common displays from the wife of the former Defense Leader. But, never anger. It was an emotional display that was reserved for special bastards.

Nasira subtly nodded her head. Her right hand attempted to dry her cheeks. "I wanted to see Eric," she confessed. "When I found out that he was still alive, I had to see him." She viewed her son as he held onto the Dermal Rejuvenator's base. There was more silence. "I was told by his, uh, doctor that he's going to be in here for the next four or five days. He's… He's going to be sedated for the next couple of days as this…" her right hand pointed to the waxy build-up. "… _thing_ helps his leftover skin reproduce," she told her mother.

"How does _this thing_ work?" asked an intrigued Mrs. Grant with her natural twang in her tone.

She glanced at her mother from over her right shoulder. "Mommy, you'd just sounded so country, right now."

Mrs. Grant glanced at her daughter and gave her a gentle smack on the back of her head. Laughter filled up the room. "Oh hush!" the mother giggled.

Nasira chuckled, in response. "Heeyyy, I'm pregnant with your grandchild, you know."

"Yeah, but you're pregnant in that big head of yours," her mother pointed out. "And speaking of which, when did you plan on telling me that you were pregnant, missy? I had to find out, when I came into your room and found you passed out and with a fetal heart monitor on your stomach."

"I was planning on telling you today or tomorrow, _but as you can see_ , some things happened and they got in the way," she told her mother.

"How long did you know that you were pregnant?"

"Since last Wednesday," she answered. "I had gone there to change my birth control and ended up receiving an ultrasound instead."

"How far along are you?"

"Thirteen weeks," Nasira revealed.

"So… How-in the-blue Hell did you get pregnant while you were still on a birth control serum?"

Nasira snorted and then chuckled. "Ma… It's a weird and complicated story."

"Well darling, I got—

"Daa-dee," chirped Lucien as he stared at his father.

'Wha… What?'

Both women turned their attentions to the toddler who was still looking at his father.

"Lukie?"

"Bunchie?"

The child glanced over his right shoulder and stared at the two women that were his 'Mama' and 'Gee-Gee'.

"Baby Boy, did you just say 'Daddy'?" queried Nasira with a smile and a joy in her tone.

Lucien performed a husky giggle. He turned his attention to his unconscious father. "Daa-dee!" He glanced at his mother. "Mama…" He turned back to Eric. His right index finger pointed to his father. "Daa-dee!"

'Of all days, in which he decides to expand his vocabulary,' she silently mused.

The toddler turned to his grandmother. He pointed his right index finger to her. "Gee-Gee!" he chirped.

" _Yesss baby_ , I am your Gee-Gee!" Mrs. Grant cheerfully told him. She placed her hand on Nasira's right shoulder. "Who's she, Bunchie?"

Lucien gazed at his mother. "Mama!" he answered.

"Yay!" both women cheered and clapped their hands. He followed suit.

"That's my…" Nasira kissed his forehead. "That's my good boy! Oooh, I'm so proud of you, Lukie-Bear!" She listened to his laughter and clapping while being thankful for the small reprieve from the sorrow that she felt, as well as, the anger.

 **~*oMLo*~**

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BINNNGGG!"_**

'What?' her brain slurred as a slovenly moan fell from her lips. Her eyes opened to a squint just as she shifted her weight in the wheelchair. Her sight swiftly scanned Eric's designated area and she came across a familiar face. ' _Oh… Shit_.' A chill covered her flesh while her heart began to wildly beat against her breastplate.

Dr. Anissa Howard stood at the foot of the Dermal Rejuvenator with her arms crossed underneath her chest. She was dressed in her doctor scrubs and white coat. She kept her golden-brown eyes on Eric's unconscious form. There was a subtle smile on her face while her eyes burned with an energy that could've been labeled as amusement.

'She's… She's _amused_ … Amused… A-fucking-mused! She's such a fucking evil-ass, spawn of Satan!'

Her need to protect, rose. Her anger, rose. Her feet slipped from out of the semi-fetal position that they were inside of and they landed on the floor. Tiny pinpricks of tingles reached the soles of her feet.

'This bitch has the audacity to—Wait! Wait!' her conscience called out to her. 'Just… Wait a minute, Nasira.' Her impending actions were put on pause. 'No… No…'

Memories from the night, when she patron Club Inferno, entered her mind. In particular, the event in which Anissa had saunter herself into the VIP section with her subtle smile and smelly-ass perform. She recalled the aura of superiority that was covered over the woman, as she ignored the looks of scorn that she received.

'The bitch… That bitch gets off of any kind of attention… Both negative and positive attention. It doesn't matter. Just play her at her own game… Okay, so how do I ruffle this bitch's feathers without making it obvious?' Her eyes stayed on the man that slept in front of her. 'I can't curse her ass out because in her warped-ass mind, she'll think that she has won… Or something like that. I can't be petty either… Good or bad attention, she'll love it. I'm sure that she knows who I am. But that doesn't mean that you can't pretend that you've never met her.'

The young woman weighed her options and realized that it could work. Her eyes flickered their focus on the woman.

'It's show time.'

"Um…Excuse me…" she announced.

She watched Anissa's eyes twitch in their sockets and aim their pupils at her. Nasira's nipped at her bottom lip to keep from smiling too broadly.

"…Are you… Eric's treating physician that is on this shift?" she queried. She shifted in her seat a little. "I know that Dr. Lane said that he was going to end his shift soon, when I last spoke to him, a few hours ago."

Nasira casually slipped out of the wheelchair. She quickly took note of the lack of light-headedness, as soon as, she stood up. She gathered her focus and she made her way over to Anissa. She extended her right hand in front of her. "My name is Nasira," she introduced herself. Her eyes did a glimpse at Eric's wax-covered back. Then she returned her attention to Anissa. "I'm his girlfriend…" A series of strong flutters formed in her chest… Just as her eyes caught the occurrence of the doctor's dainty-looking jaw clenching and releasing. 'Gotcha, bitch.' When she was several inches in front of the wordless woman, she came to a halt. 'Treat her like she is as significant as a bead of sand in a desert,' her conscience suggested. "Dr. Tam told me that he was going to have ' _round-the-clock care'_ while he's…" She gazed fondly at Eric. "…recuperating here..." She glanced at Anissa's laminated identification badge. Then she peered into the woman's eyes. "…Dr. Howard. It's…" She further extended her hand in front of her. "…nice to meet you." Nasira kept her hand out there for a few seconds until she realized that the good ol' doctor wasn't planning on shaking her hand. 'She's pissed,' she concluded as she placed her hand to her side.

The mother turned her back on the woman, who was the other love in Eric's life. She made her way back to the wheelchair and sat down. As soon as she settled into the chair, she reached for Eric's left hand. She relished the warmth that came his appendage. She glanced at the doctor. "I was told that he was going to remain sedated for four days…" She released his hand. Her right set of fingers made their way to his jaw. "I keep thinking…" She gazed at him. "…that this is a dream and I am going to wake up and I am going to be told that he was executed all along." Her fingertips drifted into his hair. Her eyes glimpsed at Anissa. "Dr. Howard, will he receive some pain medication after he wakes up?"

The doctor allowed her smile to fade from her mouth. Her lips parted and there was a "Yes. Yes, he will".

'Shit, it's about time that you open up your mouth and speak.' Nasira nodded her head and smiled. "That's good for him," she murmured. She stared at Eric. "So, I…" She aimed her gaze into Anissa's direction and was met by the sight of the doctor's retreating back. "…was think…king…" Her voice trailed off as she watched Eric's foul-hearted temptress leave.

Once the doctor was gone, Nasira released her hold of his brown-blondish curls. She sank back into her seat. She blew a raspberry at him. "Eric-Eric-Eric. You sure know how to pick them," she muttered.

 **~*oMLo*~**

"—rah…"

'Mmm?' her brain sleepily moaned.

"Nah… Searrrr… Rah…"

Her rising conscious allowed her to open her eyes into thin slits. From underneath her thick lashes, she peered at the scene that was a few feet in front of her. _'_ _Oh… Shit!'_ her brain gasped as her eyes gazed into a pair of watered, blue eyes. A level of surprise shook at her spirit, causing her to eject from her wheelchair.

She approached the bedside and she murmured, "Eric? Why are you up?"

"Nassss…" he whimpered.

The mother noticed the disturbing trembling that came from his body. Her ears picked up the consistent ragged breathing.

"… Hurts," he painfully moaned. "It hurts."

Her eyes scanned his back. "Hurts?" Her brow crumbled, in confusion. "It hurts. Hurts… Your back—I mean, your medication. Your pain medication. You need…" Her right hand gave his hair an affectionate caress. "Baby, I am going to call a nurse in here, so they can give you another dosage. Okay?"

"Nass… N-N-N-N-N…." he whimpered.

Nasira knew that the pain had to be horrible for him. Eric was the type of person to remain stoic during any kind of odds. So for Nasira, as she watched him have a visceral reaction to the pain was surprising.

Her right hand clasped his meaty, left fist before she searched for the room's intercom system. Once she found it, she pressed the red button and summoned for a nurse. She stared down at Eric. "Alright baby, a nurse is coming for you, okay."

"…Nnnnnngh-nnnn," he moaned out in agony.

"Eric, hold on, babe. A nurse's coming," she whispered. Her right set of fingers caressed his scalp and his neck. She looked into his water-filled eyes and detected his fear and uncertainty. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. You're… Alive. Don't be afraid—

"Did someone call for a—

"Yeah, over here, please!" Nasira alerted the nurse.

Squeaks from rubber-soled shoes filled up the room. They grew louder as they drew closer into their location. A few seconds later, a stocky man, dressed in a pair of black scrubs came into her view. He threw Nasira an expectant look. "How can I help you?" he queried.

"He's awake and is in pain," she informed the nurse as she nodded into Eric's direction.

"Oh!" the nurse yelped. An expression of shock crossed his face. "Oh my God!" The nurse proceeded to depart from the footboard. "Lemme see what happened and what I can do!" he announced as he made his way to the right side of the bed.

Nasira watched him travel to the other side of the bed and approach the intravenous system that was hooked up to Eric's right arm. As soon as he began to commit his task, she sat down in the wheelchair and gazed at Eric. She peered into his troubled eyes. "It's okay, baby. You're gonna—

"Sic… Sicc…Ssss…Nnn…" he whimpered.

"Mmmm, that's weird…" she heard the nurse muttered.

Nasira glimpsed at the man and then at Eric. "What did you say, sweetheart?" she whispered to him.

"…Sssss-nnnggg," he groaned.

'What?'

"Ssss-ing," he repeated.

Then it struck her. ' _Sing_ … He wants you to sing for him,' her logic informed her.

"His dosage was low," the nurse reported.

"What?" she muttered as she eyed the man. "What did you say?"

The hospital worker aimed his brown eyes at her. His right index finger pointed to the free-standing intravenous holder. "His dosage was placed on a low setting. You see this here? This machine administers the sedative medication during the cocoon process. This machine's job is to release the drugs into his system at a certain time and it supposed to release a certain amount. It pretty much regulates the drug intakes without the danger of an overdose. Now… When I came over here and checked it out, I saw that the setting was set to its lowest level. I'm sure that it wasn't set to this before his cocoon process began… Did any of the nurses or the doctors came in here and touch this while you were in here?"

Nasira shook her head. "No, not that I know of. But, I did fall asleep. Maybe when I was asleep," she explained.

The nurse pursed his lips. "Mmm," he hummed. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I had set the I.V. up to its correct settings."

"Thank you, sir," she told him before she glanced at Eric with her relief etched in her eyes.

"It's going to take about fifteen minutes for the drugs to put him back under. Once that happens, you might as well say 'Nighty-night' to him because he is going to go to sleep for a while."

"Thank you… Once again," she told the nurse with sincerity.

"No problem, sweetie," he sweetly told her before he made his way to the exit.

Once the nurse left the room, she glanced over at Eric. She stared into his pink-rimmed, blue eyes as he stared intently at her. "Man, oh, man…" she groaned. "…I don't know what you see in her," she told him as she rolled her eyes. She gifted him with a wry laugh.

"Sssss-ing," his trembling voice uttered.

"You want me to sing for you?"

There was a multi-second streak of silence from him. "Y-Y-Yes. Y—

A groan of pain had cut out his stammering declaration in half.

Out of instinct, Nasira reached out with her left hand and she held onto his left fist while her right fingers played with his hair. "It's going to be okay. Everything will be okay," she murmured in his ear, in a soothing voice. "The pain is going to disappear soon. I promise… I promise," she whispered into his grimacing face. Her attention was taken away from his face, when she felt his hand clasp onto hers. Her sight caught of his thick, bruised fingers wrapping around hers. He held onto her hands with a desperate grip.

 _"_ _I'm… lying on the moon,"_ her lips sung.

 _"…_ _My dear, I'll be there soon._

 _It's a quiet and starry place…"_

Her fingers caressed his face.

 _"…_ _Time's we're swallowed up_

 _In space, we're here a million miles away._

 _There's things I wish I knew_

 _There's no thing I'd keep from you_

 _It's a dark and shiny place_

 _But with you, my dear…"_

Nasira observed the trembling former faction leader as he endured the excruciating sensation that came from having his torn flesh replicate and mend over his wounds. He bared his teeth and his nostrils flared while gruff-sounding breaths came from him. His cheeks were soiled with tears.

 _"…_ _I'm safe and we're a million miles away._

 _We're lying on the moon_

 _It's a perfect afternoon…"_

 ** _"_** ** _BAH-BINNNGGG! ADMINISTRATING SEDATIVE!"_** the Dermal Rejuvenator announced.

Nasira glanced at the lid to the machine for a second before she gazed at Eric.

 _"…_ _Your shadow…"_

She listened to his breathing's sudden alter with its pace. It was no longer rushed and shallowed.

 _"…_ _follows me all day…"_

The grimace slipped from his face. A serene expression came across and his eyelids lazily covered his eyes.

'The medication has taken effect,' she swiftly concluded. She continued to watch Eric slip into his medically-induced slumber. Her lips continued to sing.

 _"…_ _Making sure that I'm…"_

She was aware that Eric's road to recovery and redemption was going to be a long and arduous one to complete. 'He has to quit using the drugs and maintain sobriety. Then there's the fact that he's no longer a leader…'

 _"…_ _okay…"_

'…He might not be able to… _Suicide, probably?_ ' A pair of saddened eyes now gazed down at the sleeping man. 'It's possible. He would rather die than face the humiliation.'

 _"…_ _and we're a million miles away,"_ she sung to him _._

She allowed the seconds to tick by while she continued to stare at him. "You gotta try… Eric… You gotta try."

Nasira gave the now-relaxed Eric one final look. She took in the serene and worry-free expression on his face. To her, she looked as if he didn't have no worries in his world.

"I'll see you in the morning," she whispered to him before giving him a kiss.

She freed her captured left hand and turned away from the bed. She pulled away from the sedated man and from the side of the Dermal Rejuvenator's base. Each one of her hands grabbed a wheel on the wheelchair. She backed away from the base and she turned the mode of transportation away. She wheeled the mobile chair to the room exit. Once she approached the exit, she glanced at Eric again from over her left shoulder.

'You gotta try, Eric. Just… try.'


End file.
